Many a survivor of a plane crash who is or was against cannibalism and had never eaten human flesh once found themselves in a situation where they had to either eat human flesh, or go the way of all flesh.
This is stolen? We're in a stolen jet?""Not stolen," said Donegan Bane from the co-pilot's seat."Almost stolen," Gracious corrected."Semi-stolen," said Donegan."Quasi-stolen," said Gracious. Aurora's frown did not turn upside down. "So is it stolen or not?"Donegan and Gracious hesitated."Yes," they both said together.
I don’t dwell on the fact that I may have ridden on planes. That which I can’t remember having needed, I simply accept. It is the most preferable kind of self-insight: one that does not require any accompanying change in behavior.
Glenn could see I was bricking it and turned round to me as I sat there, gripping the armrests."You all right?" he said."I hate flying, Boss. I'm shitting myself.""Don't worry, Merse. It's going to be OK. We *won't* crash."I thought, "Thank God for that. Glenn's said we're going to be safe. Nothing's going to fuck with us now.
We reviewed the ways we had to bring customers: Method A, flying aerobatics at the edge of town. Method B, the parachute jump. Then we began experimenting with Method C. There is a principle that says if you lay out a lonely solitaire game in the center of the wilderness, someone will soon come along to look over your shoulder and tell you how to play your cards. This was the principle of Method C. We unrolled our sleeping bags and stretched out under the wing, completely uncaring.
Let us hope that the advent of a successful flying machine, now only dimly foreseen and nevertheless thought to be possible, will bring nothing but good into the world; that it shall abridge distance, make all parts of the globe accessible, bring men into closer relation with each other, advance civilization, and hasten the promised era in which there shall be nothing but peace and goodwill among all men.