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169 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 6, 1939
p. 27: We forget that there is no joy except in human relations. If I summon up those memories that have left with me an enduring savor, if I draw up the balance sheet of the hours in my life that have truly counted, surely I find only those that no wealth could have procured me. True riches cannot be bought.
p. 40: I remembered the death of a man. He was a gardener, and he was speaking on his deathbed: 鈥淵ou know, I used to sweat sometimes when I was digging. My rheumatism would pull at my leg, and I would damn myself for a slave. And now, do you know, I鈥檇 like to spade and spade. It鈥檚 beautiful work. A man is free when he is using a spade. And besides, who is going to prune my trees when I am gone?鈥�
[Describing his airplane, and the minds of those who designed it] p. 42: If anything, perfection is finally attained not when there is no longer anything to add, but when there is no longer anything to take away.
p. 90:
The sergeant went on. 鈥淚 asked the captain for leave to go to Tunis, seeing my cousin is there and all. He said鈥︹€�
鈥淲hat did the captain say, sergeant?鈥�
鈥淪aid: 鈥榃orld鈥檚 full of cousins.鈥� Said: 鈥楧akar鈥檚 nearer鈥� and sent me there.鈥�
鈥淧retty girl, your cousin?鈥�
鈥淚n Tunis? You bet! Blonde, she is.鈥�
鈥淣o, I mean at Dakar.鈥�
Sergeant, we could have hugged you for the wistful disappointed voice in which you answered, 鈥淪he was a nigger.鈥�