Amelia Earhart

How can Life grant us boon of living, compensate For dull grey ugliness and pregnant hate Unless we dare The soul's dominion? Each time we make a choice, we pay With courage to behold the restless day, And count it fair.

I understood. I was a girl-a "nervous lady." I might jump out. There had to be somebody on hand to grab my ankle as I went over. It was no use to explain I had seen aeroplanes before and wasn't excitable. I was not to be permitted to go alone in the front cockpit.

The more one does and sees and feels, the more one is able to do, and the more genuine may be one's appreciation of fundamental things like home, and love, and understanding companionship.

In my life I had come to realize that when things were going very well indeed it was just the time to anticipate trouble. And, conversely, I learned from pleasant experience that at the most despairing crisis, when all looked sour beyond words, some delightful "break" was apt to lurk just around the corner.

Anticipation, I suppose, sometimes exceeds realization.

In soloing—as in other activities—it is far easier to start something than it is to finish it. Almost every beginner hops off with a whoop of joy, though he is likely to end his flight with something akin to the D.T.'s.

Preparation, I have often said, is rightly two-thirds of any venture.

The most difficult thing is the decision to act. The rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change and control your life and the procedure. The process is its own reward.

Please know that I am aware of the hazards. I want to do it because I want to do it. Women must try to do things as men have tried. When they fail, their failure must be a challenge to others.

Ours is the commencement of a flying age, and I am happy to have popped into existence at a period so interesting.

Women must try to do things as men have tried. When they fail, their failure must be but a challenge to others.

There is so much that must be done in a civilized barbarism like war.

As I look back on the flight I think two questions have been asked me most frequently. First: Was I afraid? Secondly: What did I wear?

Courage is the price that Life exacts for granting peace. The soul that knows it not, knows no release From little things: Knows not the livid loneliness of fear, Nor mountain heights where bitter joy can hear The sound of wings.

I want you to understand I shall not hold you to any midaevil code of faithfulness to me nor shall I consider myself bound to you similarly.