Aviation Has Struck A Delicately Balanced World,

Time Is An Abstraction Which, On Earth, Exists Only For The Human Brain It Has Evolved.

We Are All Consumers And Should All Be Producers.

The Life Of An Aviator Seemed To Me Ideal. It Involved Skill. It Brought Adventure. It Made Use Of The Latest Developments Of Science. Mechanical Engineers Were Fettered To Factories And Drafting Boards While Pilots Have The Freedom Of Wind With The Expanse Of Sky. There Were Times In An Aeroplane When It Seemed I Had Escaped Mortality To Look Down On Earth Like A God.

Sometimes, Flying Feels Too Godlike To Be Attained By Man. Sometimes, The World From Above Seems Too Beautiful, Too Wonderful, Too Distant For Human Eyes To See .

I Began To Feel That I Lived On A Higher Plane Than The Skeptics Of The Ground; One That Was Richer Because Of Its Very Association With The Element Of Danger They Dreaded, Because It Was Freer Of The Earth To Which They Were Bound. In Flying, I Tasted A Wine Of The Gods Of Which They Could Know Nothing. Who Valued Life More Highly, The Aviators Who Spent It On The Art They Loved, Or These Misers Who Doled It Out Like Pennies Through Their Antlike Days? I Decided That If I Could Fly For Ten Years Before I Was Killed In A Crash, It Would Be A Worthwhile Trade For An Ordinary Life Time.