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Quote by Don Santo

“I have performed and written pieces in several genres of music. I felt like a prisoner to a certain rhythm, specific vibe, or type of lifestyle. Kalpop came, I fell in love with it, and now I am free to be me and be great.”

Quote by Don Santo

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Don Santo

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“As it happens, I have a terrible weakness for books." "What kinds of books?" "All kinds." Her white shoulders lifted in a charming little shrug, momentarily fascinating him. "History, science, natural philosophy." "Really?" Born and bred for action, he had never been much of a scholar himself. "Oh, yes. The ancients. Traveler's tales. And... Gothic novels," she admitted, biting her lip with an impish twinkle in her eyes. "Ghosts and curses and such.”

“When you create a genre—which is not a movement—because it has no past—and if it has a past—its past is pregnant with a future bigger than its past—its past is its post-creation—only a point of departure—it created modes of thinking. A genre has in itself movements, generations—and after all these concepts expire in time—the genre—that is an artifact—that is a fact made shift—it doesn’t belong to a date—it is not dated—it includes all the expirations that expire in its belly—and it is still pregnant with new beginnings.”

“A second-hand bookshop draws me in a as a moth to a candle. Each shop is a small shrine to the power of beauty and words. Tightly packed shelves of old hardback novels; heavy tomes on art and design; teetering piles of poetry. There are copies of the Children's Encyclopedia used as a doorstop and wooden crates of paperbacks going for a song. Some are rare, with a price to match, others a fraction of their original cost. A book for everyone, I guess. Yes, it's the thought of words put together with such care, the pages whose surface has been worn by years of handling; the tired bindings and torn-edged covers where a book has been in less kind hands than it should. (A chance to give a damaged book a kinder home.) But even more, it is the smell that makes me want to enter every second-hand bookshop I pass. A smell that is dusty, a cross between an old leather saddle and a country church.”