I Was Too Young To Know How

If Some One Loves A Flower Of Which Just One Example Exists Among All The Millions And Millions Of Stars, That's Enough To Make Him Happy When He Looks At The Stars. He Tells Himself, "my Flower's Up There Somewhere. . . ." But If The Sheep Eats The Flower, Then For Him It's As If, Suddenly, All The Stars Went Out. And That Isn't Important?

A Pilot's Business Is With The Wind, And With The Stars, With Night, With Sand, With The Sea. He Strives To Outwit The Forces Of Nature. He Stares With Expectancy For The Coming Of The Dawn The Way A Gardener Awaits The Coming Of Spring. He Looks Forward To Port As A Promised Land, And Truth For Him Is What Lives In The Stars.

One Is A Member Of A Country, A Profession, A Civilization, A Religion. One Is Not Just A Man.

The Magic Of The Craft Has Opened For Me A World In Which I Shall Confront, Within Two Hours, The Black Dragons And The Crowned Crests Of A Coma Of Blue Lightnings, And When Night Has Fallen I, Delivered, Shall Read My Course In The Starts.

To Be A Man Is, Precisely, To Be Responsible.