V. S. Pritchett was one of the most admired, fun, talked-about writers of the 20th century: he was knighted by Queen Elizabeth for his work with prose. He was born in 1900, wrote till he died in 1997, and has been tidily forgotten ever since. This is a real shame.
Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.
And nothing is, but what is not.
To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.
To beguile the time, look like the time.
A little water clears us of this deed.
Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.
Say 'Toronto' or 'Ontario,' and the immediate thought associations are with a somewhat blander version of North America: a United States with a welfare regime and a more polite street etiquette, and the additionally reassuring visage of Queen Elizabeth on the currency.