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.

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

If I had to choose, I would rather have birds than airplanes.

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.

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