It's Hard Luck Always Having

I Believe That For His Escape He Took Advantage Of The Migration Of A Flock Of Wild Birds.

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.

A Man's Age Represents A Fine Cargo Of Experiences And Memories.

When I Opened My Eyes I Saw Nothing But The Pool Of Nocturnal Sky, For I Was Lying On My Back With Out-stretched Arms, Face To Face With That Hatchery Of Stars. Only Half Awake, Still Unaware That Those Depths Were Sky, Having No Roof Between Those Depths And Me, No Branches To Screen Them, No Root To Cling To, I Was Seized With Vertigo And Felt Myself As If Flung Forth And Plunging Downward Like A Diver.

All Grown-ups Were Once Children... But Only Few Of Them Remember It.