The punctuation of anniversaries is terrible, like the closing of doors, one after another between you and what you want to hold on to.

Flying was a very tangible freedom. In those days, it was beauty, adventure, discovery - the epitome of breaking into new worlds.

Life is a gift, given in trust - like a child.

Fame is a kind of death because it arrests life around the person in the public eye.

I had the feeling . . . that my experience was very different from other people’s. (Are we all under this illusion?)

The plane seems exultant now, even arrogant. We did it, we did it! We're up, above you. We were dependant on you just now, prisoners fawning on you for favors, for wind and light. But now, we are free. We are up! We are off! Like someone singing ecstatically, climbing, soaring- a sustained note of power and joy.

I feel I should not be ... so at the mercy of people's regard. And yet - it is the artist's desire for communication too; without the answering voice you get so numb; you lose faith in your powers to communicate.