If I Had Fifty-three Minutes To Spend

I Don't Understand These People Anymore, That Travel The Commuter-trains To Their Dormitory Towns. These People That Call Themselves Human, But, By A Pressure They Do Not Feel, Are Forced To Do Their Work Like Ants. With What Do They Fill Their Time When They Are Free Of Work On Their Silly Little Sundays? I Am Very Fortunate In My Profession. I Feel Like A Farmer, With The Airstrips As My Fields. Those That Have Once Tasted This Kind Of Fare Will Not Forget It Ever. Not So, My Friends?

The Meaning Of Things Lies Not In The Things Themselves, But In Our Attitude Towards Them In Particular Caused By What We Compare It To: Something Worse And We Feel Grateful For What We Have; Something Better And We Feel Somehow Let Down.

The Thing That Is Important Is The Thing That Is Not Seen.

It Is The Missed Opportunity That Counts, And In A Love That Vainly Yearns From Behind Prison Bars You Have Perchance The Love Supreme.

Vain Is The Hope Of Finding Pleasure In That Which One Has Hitherto Disdained; As When The Warrior Hopes To Find Pleasure In The Joys Of The Sedentaries.