Quotes About Flight

I've always been fascinated by everything with wings.

The Golden Eagle, which has universally been considered as a bird of most extraordinary powers of flight, is in my estimation little more than a sluggard, though its wings are long and ample.

I have got a scheme to make a thing in the form of a horse with a steam engine in the inside so contrived as to move an immense pair of wings, fixed on the outside of the horse, in such a manner as to carry it up into the air while a person sits on its back.

My favourite poem is called 'Roots and Wings' - it's a very moving poem about how if you've got real roots you can fly.

Sequoia seeds have flat wings, and glint and glance in their flight like a boy's kite.

For a man so incredibly hairy and square, watching my dad get on a bike was like watching a penguin spread its wings and take flight. He'd take off at inhuman speed, a smile on his face, and never look back.

The wings are moved several times by hand to charge the crank chamber with mixture, which flows on through the external pipe and inlet valve to the compression space and cylinder.

It still amazes me, when I go out and fly the T-38, and I'm looking at those little, short, skinny little wings, and that thing's flying. It's just amazing to me, even now.

I'd love to grow a pair of discreet wings so I could just fly around a bit and impress people.

We all fly. Once you leave the ground, you fly. Some people fly longer than others.

If you are a plane-spotter, and you are interested in the history of a particular aircraft, you know there are many documents publicly available: registration papers and airworthiness certificates from the FAA. You can also get flight data from the FAA.

I'm obsessed with insects, particularly insect flight. I think the evolution of insect flight is perhaps one of the most important events in the history of life. Without insects, there'd be no flowering plants. Without flowering plants, there would be no clever, fruit-eating primates giving TED Talks.

do with aviation again

Birds have wings they're free they can fly where they want when they want. They have the kind of mobility many people envy.

Birds have wings; they're free; they can fly where they want when they want. They have the kind of mobility many people envy.

E così della propria vita, delle proprie idee e dei propri sogni si fanno… degli aquiloni.»

Rain tapping through the brilliant leaves the only sound. She stopped. The sense of something there, with her, all around her, swirling and seething with energy. How intimately the trees seized the earth. How exquisitely she was included. Patrice closed her eyes and felt a tug. Her spirit poured into the air like song. Wait! She opened her eyes and threw her weight into her cold feet. This must be how Gerald felt when he flew across the earth. Sometimes she frightened herself.

You can be a virgin in horror the same as in sex. How, when I left the Place Clichy, could I have imagined such horror? Who could have suspected, before getting really into the war, all the ingredients that go to make up the rotten, heroic, good-for-nothing soul of man? And there I was, caught up in a mass flight into collective murder, into the fiery furnace … Something had come up from the depths, and this is what happened.

Dzi?ki pragnieniu latania, przede wszystkim wznoszenia si?, tancerze stali si?, podobnie jak anio?owie, ogniwem ??cz?cym cz?owieka i Boga, niebo i ziemi?.

But unlike most birds, crows also appear to fly for reasons that defy scientific explanation, though to us it seems obvious. They fly for fun. Any windy day will fling crows into the air like leaves, diving, wheeling, rising, tumbling. I see them, and think that if I were a bird, I would want to fly like a crow—with enough of a brain to love it. It might even make it worth it having to eat dead city rats if I could fly like that.

in the air. She'd

Tem asas como as das águias; Nem pousa sobre o granito; Aspira para o infinito; Pede tudo e tudo quer!

ensure that your aircraft will not penetrate this area.

For the Love of Dying The tortures of hell are stern, their fires burn fiercely. Yet vultures turn against the air more beautifully than seagulls float downwind in cool sunlight, or fans in asylums spin a loom of fate for hope which never ventured up so high as life's deception, astride the vulture's flight. If death can fly, just for the love of flying, what might not life do, for the love of dying?