That's The Way They Are. You Must

The Airplane Has Unveiled For Us The True Face Of The Earth.

Si Quelqu'un Veut Un Mouton, C'est La Preuve Qu'il En Existe Un. (if Somebody Wants A Sheep, That Is A Proof That One Exists.)

Defeat Is A Thing Of Weariness, Of Incoherence, Of Boredom, And Above All Futility.

It Is The Duty Of The Ship's Captain To Make Port, Cost What It May.

So The Crew Fly On With No Thought That They Are In Motion. Like Night Over The Sea, They Are Very Far From The Earth, From Towns, From Trees. The Clock Ticks On. The Dials, The Radio Lamps, The Various Hands And Needles Go Though Their Invisible Alchemy. . . . And When The Hour Is At Hand The Pilot May Glue His Forehead To The Window With Perfect Assurance. Out Of Oblivion The Gold Has Been Smelted: There It Gleams In The Lights Of The Airport.