We are all youthful barbarians, and only our new toys bring us excitement. That has been the sole purpose of our flights. This one flies higher, that one faster. But now we will make ourselves at home. We will forget the machine, the tool. It is no longer complex; it does what it is supposed to do, unnoticed. And through this tool we will find again the old nature, the nature of the gardener, the navigator, the poet.

We are prudent people. We are afraid to let go of our petty reality in order to grasp at a great shadow.

No individual is isolated. He who is sad, saddens others.

I believe that for his escape he took advantage of the migration of a flock of wild birds.

A man's age is something impressive, it sums up his life: maturity reached slowly and against many obstacles, illnesses cured, griefs and despairs overcome, and unconscious risks taken; maturity formed through so many desires, hopes, regrets, forgotten things, loves. A man's age represents a fine cargo of experience and memories.

I have always learned to distinguish the important from the urgent.

There is no hope of joy except in human relations.