Fokker Quotes

Evidence in support of general relativity came quickly. Astronomers had long known that Mercury’s orbital motion around the sun deviated slightly from what Newton’s mathematics predicted. In 1915, Einstein used his new equations to recalculate Mercury’s trajectory and was able to explain the discrepancy, a realization he later described to his colleague Adrian Fokker as so thrilling that for some hours it gave him heart palpitations.

by the assault. Shading his eyes against the dazzle from the window, he peered down into the shadows. “Oh, hallo there, wee dog,” he said politely, and took a step forward, knuckles stretched out. Bouton raised the growl a few decibels, and he took a step back. “Oh, like that, is it?” Jamie said. He eyed the dog narrowly. “Think it over, laddie,” he advised, squinting down his long, straight nose. “I’m a damn sight bigger than you. I wouldna undertake any rash ventures, if I were you.” Bouton shifted his ground slightly, still making a noise like a distant Fokker. “Faster, too,” said Jamie, making a feint to one side. Bouton’s teeth snapped together a few inches from Jamie’s calf, and he stepped back hastily. Leaning back against the wall, he folded his arms and nodded down at the dog. “Well, you’ve a point there, I’ll admit. When it comes to teeth, ye’ve the edge on me, and no mistake.” Bouton cocked an ear suspiciously at this gracious speech, but went back to the low-pitched growl. Jamie hooked one foot over the other, like one prepared to pass the time of day indefinitely. The multicolored light from the window washed his face with blue, making him look like one of the chilly marble statues in the cathedral next door. “Surely you’ve better things to do than harry innocent visitors?” he asked, conversationally. “I’ve heard of you—you’re the famous fellow that sniffs out sickness, no? Weel, then, why are they wastin’ ye on silly things like door-guarding, when ye might be makin’ yourself useful smelling gouty toes and pustulant arseholes?

Then I began writing. It was about a German aviator in World War I. Baron Von Himmlen. He flew a red Fokker. And he was not popular with his fellow fliers. He didn't talk to them. He drank alone and he flew alone. He didn't bother with women, although they all loved him. He was above that. He was too busy. He was busy shooting Allied plans out of the sky. Already he had shot down 110 and he war wasn't over. His red Fokker, which he referred to as the "October Bird of Death," was known everywhere. Even the enemy ground troops knew him as he often flew low over them, taking their gunfire and laughing, dropping bottles of champagne to them suspended from little parachutes. Baron Von Himmlen was never attacked by less than five Allied planes at a time. He was an ugly man with scars on his face, but he was beautiful if you looked long enough -- it was in the eyes, his style, his courage, his fierce aloneness.

In late 1915 there appeared on the Western Front a German flier named Manfred von Richthofen, known as the Red Baron, after his royal title and a penchant for painting his squadron’s Fokker triwing fighters red. He was a natural born killer who shot down more than eighty enemy aircraft before himself being fatally brought down by ground fire

All told, Finnish fighter pilots shot down 240 confirmed Red aircraft, against the loss of 26 of their own planes. It was standard practice to send at least one interceptor up to meet every Russian bomber sortie within range. Not infrequently the appearance of a single Fokker caused an entire squadron of SB-2s to jettison its bombs into the snow and turn tail.

Nederland viert feest dankzij Fokker!

In 1918, Quentin Roosevelt – a World War I pilot in the United States Air Service and the fourth son of former US President Theodore Roosevelt – was shot down and killed by a German Fokker plane in France. The German Army buried him with full military honours.

I told him his phone was so old it should come with a bi-plane mode. I'm not sure, but I think his reply was "Fokker.

Vedi, quelle lì ignorano me, ignorano chiunque. Hanno solo la loro idea, la luce, la luce, la Luce, e vogliono stare lì, a contemplarla. E' il loro obbiettivo, il loro desiderio, il fuoco che dà motivo di esistere. Non gli importa di mangiare: stanno lì e tendono verso il loro... "dio", o sogno, o chiamalo come vuoi." "E allora?" "E allora, alla fine si brucieranno le ali e cadranno. Fine. Non gliene frega niente del resto, vogliono solo quella luce, e moriranno per lei. Ma le altre..." schiacciò con un colpo sonoro una zanzara Fokker atterrata sul suo avambraccio, la osservò per qualche secondo, poi la spinse via e rovistò in tasca per trovare il fazzoletto e pulirsi. "Le altre si preoccupano solo di mangiare. Rischiano incidenti come questo, ma se saranno abili e fortunate si sfameranno, ingrasseranno e vivranno felici, senza aver mai neanche pensato alla bellezza di quel Fuoco. Ignorando che esiste. O fingendo di dimenticarsene. Finché non lo scorderanno davvero. Io mi sento come se facessi parte del primo gruppo. Non mi sfamerò mai molto, volerò e volerò a lungo, con impegno e probabilmente in cerchio, tenterò di raggiungere l'illusione di un Fuoco e morirò bruciato. Senza neanche averlo mai sfiorato.

There’s no such thing as useless knowledge.  It’s just stuff you haven’t needed yet!

De buurtbeheerder regeert mijn sperma, onderbroeken en flessen wijn, crack, pillen en vieze toilet dankzij het papier uit Rusland.