I recently flew more than twelve thousand miles in a little over a month, through rain, fog, wind and snow, over mountains, cities and deserts, in a three-year-old, second-hand airplane that had already traveled some five hundred thousand miles. During that time I never was very late for an appointment or put a single scratch on myself. And considering that I am hardly an expert pilot at nineteen years of age, I knew that these statements must prove something about modern commercial aviation.

Well, the whole flight took 13 hours…4 to Japan, 9 hours across the water to China. No particular or dramatic things happened. We ended up thinking about what could happen, especially after Hank, our navigator, handed me a note saying we were going to end up about 180 miles short of China. We didn’t know what to think about that. But we got to China with fuel to spare, a tailwind helped us.

Within the hour, I'll land, and strangely enough I'm in no hurry to have it pass. I haven't the slightest desire to sleep. My eyes are no longer salted stones. There's not an ache in my body. The night is cool and safe. I want to sit quietly in this cockpit and let the realization of my completed flight sink in. Europe is below; Paris, just over the earth's curve in the night ahead - a few minutes more of flight. It's like struggling up a mountain after a rare flower, and then, when you have it within arm's reach, realizing that satisfaction and happiness lie more in the finding than in the plucking. Plucking and withering are inseparable. I want to prolong this culminating experience of my flight. I almost wish Paris were a few more hours away. It's a shame to land with the night so clear and so much fuel in my tanks

Hauling fish from the sea—what endless toil. One could almost say, what an eternal problem.

"You said you were going for a walk!? What kind of walk takes six hours?"
"A long one?"

Twelve thousand miles of it, to the other side of the world. And whether they came home again or not, they would belong neither here, nor there, for they would have lived on two continents and sampled two different ways of life.

My good Lord and friend Sala, - [I] enjoyed the blissful pleasure enjoyed by your friendship.. .When I reached the city [The Hague] again yesterday, I have taken the fishes out of the basket more than 12 times, to show them.. .That day, friend Sala, belongs among the most pleasant of my life, all moments have kept me alive until now, always sitting [fishing] in the boat, swaying with the bobbers in the field of view..

So long, and thanks for all the fish.

When you're writing, it's rather like going on a very long walk

I’m one-hundred-fifty miles off Cape Horn, both autopilots are broken, and my boat is drifting toward one of the nastiest chunks of ocean on the face of the earth.

A career is just a longer trip with a whole lot more baggage.

Marcus! I thought you must have been developing other interests, but I never expected to find you with your arms locked round a fish...

Fifteen minutes out of Mexico City for Tokyo a passenger aboard a 747 screamed that he was being eaten by red-hot ants, and managed to open the emergency door at 23,000 feet. He had been to the washroom and drunk from the faucet there before takeoff.
It was, after all, labeled DRINKING WATER.

People like to eat fish by the water even if the fish was caught far away and transported by trucks.