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You work here [on the farm] simply without philosophizing; sometimes the work is hard and crowded with pettiness. But at times you feel a surge of cosmic exaltation, like the clear light of the heavens... . And you, too, seem to be taking root in the soil which you are digging, to be nourished by the rays of the sun, to share life with the tiniest blade of grass, with each flower; living in nature's depths, you seem then to rise and grow into the vast expanse of the universe.
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There are two kinds of beauty; there is a beauty which God gives at birth, and which withers as a flower. And there is a beauty which God grants when by His grace men are born again. That kind of beauty never vanishes but blooms eternally.
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If you think squash is a competitive activity, try flower arranging.
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You [Chopin] have in your fingers an orchestra of butterflies.
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You can be betrayed in your sleep. The whole world can tilt while you're dreaming of butterflies.
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Oh! To be a butterfly Still, upon a flower, Winking with its painted wings, Happy in the hour.
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Test pilots have a litmus test for evaluating problems. When something goes wrong, they ask, "Is this thing still flying?" If the answer is yes, then there's no immediate danger, no need to overreact.
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On wings of wind came flying all abroad.
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I think it is a pity to lose the romantic side of flying and simply to accept it as a common means of transport, although that end is what we have all ostensibly been striving to attain.
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I work best when there is adversity: I seem to get calmer the more the fur is flying.
