Only with winter-patience can we bring The deep desired, long-awaited spring.
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One could sit still and look at life from the air; that was it. And I was conscious again of the fundamental magic of flying, a miracle that has nothing to do with any of its practical purposes - speed, accessibility, and convenience - and will not change as they change. Looking down from the air that morning, I felt that stillness rested like a light over the earth. What motion there was took on a slow grace, like slow-motion pictures which catch the moment of outstretched beauty that one cannot see in life itself, so swiftly does it move. And if flying, like a glass-bottomed bucket, can give you that vision, that seeing eye, which peers down to the still world below the choppy waves - it will always remain magic.
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Perhaps I am a bear, or some hibernating animal underneath, for the instinct to be half asleep all winter is so strong in me.
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Arranging a bowl of flowers in the morning can give a sense of quiet in a crowded day - like writing a poem, or saying a prayer.
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Any coward can sit in his home and criticize a pilot for flying into a mountain in a fog. But I would rather, by far, die on a mountainside than in bed. What kind of man would live where there is no daring And is life so dear that we should blame men for dying in adventure Is there a better way to die
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A simple enough pleasure, surely, to have breakfast alone with one's husband, but how seldom married people in the midst of life achieve it.
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The intellectual is constantly betrayed by his vanity. Godlike he blandly assumes that he can express everything in words whereas the things one loves, lives, and dies for are not, in the last analysis completely expressible in words.
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Good communication is as stimulating as black coffee, and just as hard to sleep after.
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One cannot collect all the beautiful shells on the beach.
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My passport photo is one of the most remarkable photographs I have ever seen --- no retouching, no shadows, no flattery --- just stark me.
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Only in growth, reform, and change, paradoxically enough, is true security to be found.
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I believe that what woman resents is not so much giving herself in pieces as giving herself purposelessly.
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Only when one is connected to one's inner core is one connected to others. And, for me, the core, the inner spring, can best be re-found through solitude.
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What kind of man would live a life without daring Is life so sweet that we should criticize men that seek adventure Is there a better way to die
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Good communication is as stimulating as black coffee and just as hard to sleep after.
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I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness and the willingness to remain vulnerable.
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If you surrender completely to the moments as they pass, you live more richly those moments.
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One can never pay in gratitude; one can only pay in kind somewhere else in life.
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Life is a culmination of the past, an awareness of the present, an indication of a future beyond knowledge, the quality that gives a touch of divinity to matter.
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Men kick friendship around like a football, but it doesn't seem to crack. Women treat it like glass and it goes to pieces.
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The most exhausting thing you can do is to be inauthentic.
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To give without any reward, or any notice, has a special quality of its own.
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It takes as much courage to have tried and failed as it does to have tried and succeeded.
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It was a love of the air and sky and flying, the lure of adventure, the appreciation of beauty. It lay beyond the descriptive words of men-where immortality is touched through danger, where life meets death on equal plane where man is more than man, and existence both supreme and valueless at the same time.
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This was love at first sight, love everlasting a feeling unknown, unhoped for, unexpected--in so far as it could be a matter of conscious awareness it took entire possession of him, and he understood, with joyous amazement, that this was for life.
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...Him that I love, I wish to be free--even from me.
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Grief can't be shared. Everyone carries it alone, his own burdens, his own way.
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Lindbergh made the flight to win a prize, not as a personal objective. I really saw the power of that prize written out for me in hard numbers: Nine teams spent [a combined] $400,000 to win that $25,000. It occurred to me that what space really needed was a prize to compel folks to build the ships that would take the rest of us there.
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If I had to choose, I would rather have birds than airplanes.
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The improvement of our way of life is more important than the spreading of it. If we make it satisfactory enough, it will spread automatically. If we do not, no strength of arms can permanently oppose it.
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