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After five months on the road, a weary-looking Gino Quilico conceded the obvious. "This time, I'm tired," said the 43-year-old baritone, slouched in a chair in his Montreal studio.

Camille Laurin once likened Bill 101, Quebec's landmark French language charter that he ushered into law, to shock therapy. It was a fitting analogy for Laurin, 76, a psychiatrist-turned-politician who died of cancer last week in Montreal.

For the man who has spent a decade living a real-life version of The Fugitive, Salman Rushdie no longer fits the part as well as he once did.

Even when all his appeals had at long last run out and the life remaining to him was measured in just minutes, Stanley Faulder had little to say for himself. For 22 years, while he sat on death row in Huntsville, Tex.

He has her look, the one that gave her so vulnerable an air, that slow, shy upturned glance from a downturned head. He has her eyes, too, blue as an English summer sky. The blond hair is the same, as is the quiet smile, the fluid walk, the long, lean figure.

So why do people keep misjudging those choirboy looks? The fluently bilingual lawyer was a dark horse to become leader of the hapless New Brunswick Tory party after Bernard Valcourt was driven out during a fractious leadership review in 1997 - but won on the second ballot.

Theatre impresario Garth Drabinsky hailed the April, 1998 arrival of a team of executives led by superagent Michael Ovitz as a blessing. Sure, it meant that Drabinsky and his longtime partner Myron Gottlieb would have to relinquish control of Livent Inc., their Toronto-based live theatre company.

On a balmy late-December afternoon, Prime Minister Jean Chrétien was in conversation with Maclean’s at his official residence when the telephone rang for the second time. Gesturing to an aide to silence the call, Chrétien said: "Push 'Do Not Disturb.' " The aide hit the button, exclaiming: "Ah, DND.

Garth Drabinsky tucked his head down and drove forward into the crush of microphone-waving reporters at a Toronto hotel. When he finally reached the podium, he bit his lower lip and then launched into a dramatic rebuke of a series of U.S.

Maybe Michael Jordan knew it would be his last shot.

In Brian Moore’s novels, survival is a virtue, and it was part of his gift to show how much courage and luck it took just to get from day to day.

There was not much time during Jean Chrétien's dash-in, dash-out visit to Cuba to get a long look at the physical and spiritual rubble of Fidel Castro's revolution.

The Rankins may have dropped "Family" from their stage name but, offstage, the word has taken on a new dimension.

Ol' Blue Eyes probably put it best himself, in that smoky voice with the smart phrasing. He was, quite simply, "King of the hill, top of the heap.

Michel Cogger fell to earth last week. It has been a long, agonizing descent. The portly, peppery Tory senator and lawyer once helped run federal election campaigns, had the ear of prime minister Brian Mulroney, and the trust of legal clients like the shadowy Austrian businessman Walter Wolf.

Phyllis GOTLIEB is the first to agree she fits the classic profile of the SCIENCE FICTION writer. "Like quite a few of us - Robert Silverberg, Frederik Pohl, my friend Judy Merril," she rhymes off, "I was an only child.

Rodney GRAHAM hunches over the desk in his modish Robson Street studio and taps compulsively on a calculator as if it were a musical keyboard. "I'm sorry I don't have any new work to show you," the Vancouver artist says politely. Graham, one of Canadian art's international stars, is playing hooky.