The hard, inescapable reality is that anyone who flies may die in an airplane.

Airplanes are like women - pick what you like and try to get it away from the guy who has it, then dress it out to the limit of your wallet and taste.

With the stick in my right hand, the throttle in my left, and the rudder beneath my feet, I can savor that essence from which life is made.

Here you are truly separate from the earth, at least for a little while, removed from the cares and concerns that occupy you on the ground.

A little mountain will kill you just as dead as a big one if you fly into it.

All really great flying adventures begin at dawn.

I am alive. Up here with the song of the engine and the air whispering on my face as the sunlight and shadows play upon the banking, wheeling wings, I am completely, vibrantly alive. With the stick in my right hand, the throttle in my left, and the rudder beneath my feet, I can savor that essence from which life is made.