Glider Quotes

And she was right. No matter how they tried, the two humans, with the cat but without the microchip, couldn’t connect to headquarters. Raya heard a loud popping sound in her mind, like a huge rubber band being snapped, like a glider plane released from a Piper Cub.

I’m flying!” Of course, I’m not flying so much as coasting over the treetops like a hand glider or a freakishly large flying squirrel.

I just told you I didn't - and I don't like to be doubted," he scolds. "I didn't go anywhere last weekend. I sat and made the glider you gave me. Took me forever," he adds quietly.

This is a world where everybody’s gotta do something. Ya know, somebody laid down this rule that everybody’s gotta do something, they gotta be something. You know, a dentist, a glider pilot, a narc, a janitor, a preacher, all that . . . Sometimes I just get tired of thinking of all the things that I don’t wanna do. All the things that I don’t wanna be. Places I don’t wanna go, like India, like getting my teeth cleaned. Save the whale, all that, I don’t understand that . . .

Unwrapping the paper carefully so it doesn’t tear, I find a beautiful red leather box. Cartier. It’s familiar, thanks to my second-chance earrings and my watch. Cautiously, I open the box to discover a delicate charm bracelet of silver, or platinum or white gold—I don’t know, but it’s absolutely enchanting. Attached to it are several charms: the Eiffel Tower, a London black cab, a helicopter—Charlie Tango, a glider—the soaring, a catamaran—The Grace, a bed, and an ice cream cone? I look up at him, bemused. “Vanilla?” He shrugs apologetically, and I can’t help but laugh. Of course. “Christian, this is beautiful. Thank you. It’s yar.” He grins. My favorite is the heart. It’s a locket. “You can put a picture or whatever in that.” “A picture of you.” I glance at him through my lashes. “Always in my heart.” He smiles his lovely, heartbreakingly shy smile. I fondle the last two charms: a letter C—oh yes, I was his first girlfriend to use his first name. I smile at the thought. And finally, there’s a key. “To my heart and soul,” he whispers.

Those who are courageous, go headlong. They search all opportunities of danger. Their life philosophy is not that of insurance companies. Their life philosophy is that of a mountain climber, a glider, a surfer. And not only in the outside seas they surf; they surf in their innermost seas. And not only on the outside they climb Alps and Himalayas; they seek inner peaks. But remember one thing: never forget the art of risking— never, never. Always remain capable of risking. Wherever you can find an opportunity to risk, never miss it, and you will never be a loser. Risk is the only guarantee for being truly alive.

In fact, humans on Titan could fly by muscle power. A human in a hang glider could comfortably take off and cruise around powered by oversized swim-flipper boots—or even take off by flapping artificial wings. The power requirements are minimal—it would probably take no more effort than walking.

Then since the autopilot will have it trimmed out to fly in a straight line, the glider will begin what the pilot calls a controlled descent. That kind of a descent, I tell him, would be nice for a change.

I sighed and rested my head against the back of the glider. “I’m okay. How are you?

Then all of a sudden, this tear plopped down on the checkerboard. On one of the red squares – boy, I can still see it. She just rubbed it into the board with her finger. I don't know why, but it bothered hell out of me. So what I did was, I went over and made her move over on the glider so that I could sit down next to her – I practically sat down in her lap, as a matter of fact. Then she really started to cry, and the next thing I knew, I was kissing her all over – anywhere – her eyes, her nose, her forehead, her eyebrows and all, her ears – her whole face except her mouth and all. She sort of wouldn't let me get to her mouth.

He ran down the heart of the old midway, where the weight guessers, fortune-tellers, and dancing gypsies had once worked. He lowered his chin and held his arms out like a glider, and every few steps he would jump, the way children do, hoping running will turn to flying. It might have seemed ridiculous to anyone watching, this white-haired maintenaance worker, all alone, making like an airplane. But the running boy is inside every man, no matter how old he gets.

Some lives are worth more than others. That's just a fact. Your life is worth a thousand sugar gliders' lives. Christ, it's worth a thousand people's lives to me. I know that's not ethical, but it's how I feel. It's how the human heart works. Your life is more precious than any other life to me. Even more—even more than my own.

Then he went on to bore me with a lot of details about jet engines, the venturi effect, increasing lift by increasing camber with the flaps, and how after all four engines flame out the plane will turn into a 450,000-pound glider. Then since the autopilot will have trimmed out to fly a straight line, the glider will begin what the pilot calls a controlled descent. That kind of descent, I tell him, would be nice for a change. You just don't know what I've been through this past year.

Nelson! Stop that this minute!" She turns rigid in the glider but does not rise to see what is making the boy cry. Eccles, sitting by the screen, can see. The Fosnacht boy stands by the swing, holding two red plastic trucks. Angstrom's son, some inches shorter, is batting with an open hand toward the bigger boy's chest, but does not quite dare to move forward a step and actually strike him...Nelson's face turns up toward the porch and he tries to explain, "Pilly have - Pilly -" But just trying to describe the injustice gives it unbearable force, and as if struck from behind he totters forward and slaps the thief's chest and receives a mild shove that makes him sit on the ground. He rolls on his stomach and spins in the grass, revolved by his own incoherent kicking. Eccles' heart seems to twist with the child's body; he knows so well the propulsive power of a wrong, the way the mind batters against it and each futile blow sucks the air emptier until it seems the whole frame of blood and bone must burst in a universe that can be such a vacuum.

Eastman Jacob's legendary attempt to launch a car attached to a glider plane using Hampton's Tony Chesapeake Avenue as a runway only confirmed the Hamptonian's feelings that the Good Lord didn't always see fit to give book sense and common sense to the same individual.

Unwrapping the paper carefully so it doesn’t tear, I find a beautiful red leather box. Cartier. It’s familiar, thanks to my second-chance earrings and my watch. Cautiously, I open the box to discover a delicate charm bracelet of silver or platinum or white gold—I don’t know, but it’s absolutely enchanting. Attached to it are several charms: the Eiffel Tower; a London black cab; a helicopter—Charlie Tango; a glider—the soaring, a catamaran—The Grace; a bed; and an ice cream cone? I look up at him, bemused. “Vanilla?” He shrugs apologetically(...)

Picket turned, smiled, and rushed Lallo with a leaping kick, which sent the surprised buck to the ground. Picket didn’t leave him there. He kicked his glider pack so that it crashed into Lallo’s head, then snagged several signal flags from a nearby shelf and attacked the astonished rabbit with them. Lallo blocked the first blow, then kicked out and missed as Picket dodged to the side and drove a flag’s thick handle into his middle. Lallo gasped, sinking to his knees. Picket rose and kicked him down. “How many weapons do I have?” Picket asked. “A thousand?” Lallo gasped. “Lesson one,” Picket said, extending a hand to the crumpled buck. “Everything’s a weapon.

Life is nothing more than a series of lyric snippets from Bruce Springsteen songs.

Om man ser till hur vårt utbildningssystem är utformat så verkar det som att estetiska färdigheter är något vi behöver allt mindre av ju äldre vi blir. Jag tror det är ett misstag. I en samtid där vi så lätt glider bort i abstraktioner och generaliseringar, och där det verbaliserbara ofta tar över helt, behöver vi träna oss på är stanna kvar i de sinnesintryck vi har här och nu.

The cotton industry was thus launched, like a glider, by the pull of the colonial trade to which it was attached; a trade which promised not only great, but rapid and above all unpredictable expansion, which encouraged the entrepreneur to adopt the revolutionary techniques required to meet it. Between 1750 and 1769 the export of British cottons increased more than ten times over.

I love to see those paragliders weaving softly around Moon Point, their legs floating above you in the air. When they drift in for a landing, their feet touch the ground and they trot forward from the continued motion of the glider, which billows down like a setting sun. I never get tired of watching them and I've seen them thousands of times. I always wondered what that kind of freedom would feel like.

the tale of Beaver Morrison, a b&e convict who tried to build a glider from scratch in the plate-factory basement. The plans he was working from were in a circa-1900 book called The Modern Boy’s Guide to Fun and Adventure. Beaver got it built without being discovered, or so the story goes, only to discover there was no door from the basement big enough to get the damned thing out. When Henley told that story, you could bust a gut laughing, and he knew a dozen—no, two dozen—almost as funny.

Edison’s famous “invention” of the incandescent light bulb on the night of October 21, 1879, improved on many other incandescent light bulbs patented by other inventors between 1841 and 1878. Similarly, the Wright brothers’ manned powered airplane was preceded by the manned unpowered gliders of Otto Lilienthal and the unmanned powered airplane of Samuel Langley; Samuel Morse’s telegraph was preceded by those of Joseph Henry, William Cooke, and Charles Wheatstone; and Eli Whitney’s gin for cleaning short-staple (inland) cotton extended gins that had been cleaning long-staple (Sea Island) cotton for thousands of years.

Det är så lätt att döda någon, allt någon som jag behöver är en bil och några sekunder. För folk som du litar på mig, ni kör tusentals kilo metall i hundratals kilometer i timmen rakt ut i mörkret med era mest älskade sovande i baksätet, och när någon som jag kommer från andra hållet litar ni på att jag inte har dåliga bromsar. Att jag inte letar efter min telefon mellan sätena, inte kör för fort, inte glider mellan filerna för att jag blinkar tårar ur ögonen. Att jag inte står på en påfart till III:an med strålkastarna släckta och väntar på en lastbil. Ni litar på mig. Att jag inte är full. Att jag inte kommer döda er.

In real life, the monsters are the ones abducting and killing children or flying hijacked airplanes into skyscrapers or looting our treasury and sending our kids off to fight a bullshit war just so they can line their own pockets and the pockets of their corporate buddies or eradicating our Bill of Rights in the name of national security. Those are the real monsters.

After dinner, Sammie Franklin and he got into an argument about vermouths. Sammie said the drier the vermouth, the more one had to put into a martini, although he admitted he was not a martini drinker. Bruno said he was not a martini drinker either, but he knew better than that. The argument went on even after his grandmother said good night and left them. They were on the upstairs terrace in the dark, his mother in the glider and he and Sammie standing by the parapet. Bruno ran down to the bar for the ingredients to prove his point. They both made martinis and tasted them, and though it was clear Bruno was right, Sammie kept holding out, and chuckling as if he didn't quite mean what he said either, which Bruni found insufferable

The result, a few moments later, was that the glider came snapping over the top just as its connection to the last flynk was severed. In a few seconds it had been hauled two thousand meters straight up and let go with a velocity of a few hundred kilometers per hour. Meanwhile, every other flynk in the chain had decoupled itself fore and aft, causing the entire chain to disintegrate into a linear cloud of identical fragments, each headed in a different direction. Each flynk, sensing that it was aloft and alone, automatically deployed large tail vanes that turned it from a bullet into a badminton shuttlecock. The flynks rapidly slowed down to their terminal velocity, turned nose down, and began to fall toward the ground. A slight canting of the vanes caused them to begin spinning like maple seeds, further slowing their descent, and in this manner the entire swarm began to descend in the direction of an empty lot adjacent to the flynk barn.

Excitement, then, is a defense against anxiety, a transformation of anxiety into something more bearable, a melodrama. And if one lives protected from the worst of the endless random true mysteries, risks, and traumas of the real world, there grows a hunger for excitement - hang gliders, cigarette smoking, pacts with the devil, gambling, hallucinatory drugs, bank robbery, art, books written without adequate data. Most people who can have it cannot long bear calm contentment.

whether a C-47, pulling a loaded glider in thin air, had the horsepower to climb to roughly ten thousand feet quickly enough to make it through the pass that led out of the valley. In addition, the pilots of both aircraft would have to contend with

Hang Gliding Jim Bob had always wanted to try hang gliding, but it was pretty expensive. So he worked hard and over time was able to save enough money to buy his new toy.  When he got home, he read through the manual and quickly assembled his glider.  Then he took it up the highest mountain, near his home.  He readied everything for his first flight and got strapped in.    Just like he had learned, he ran as fast as he could to the edge of the cliff and jumped into the wind.  He was flying! Around that same time Ma and Pa Kettle were sitting on their front porch enjoying some tea together.  Pa was looking up into the sky, enjoying the calm of the early evening, when he suddenly let out a gasp and said, “That has got to be the biggest bird I have ever seen!”  “I need my rifle, can you get it for me Ma?” he asked his wife. Ma Kettle ran into the house and returned shortly with a long rifle.  She handed it to Pa.  He took aim and fired twice at the big bird.  The bird kept sailing through the sky.  “It looks like you missed,” Ma said. “Yes, but at least that bird let go of Jim Bob.

remodeled glider to Kill Devil Hills to resume testing.

If you’ve got to go into combat, don’t go by glider. Walk, crawl, parachute, swim, float—anything. But don’t go by glider!

Research aircraft 12. Emphasis was placed on the athodyd propulsion system of the Lippisch P.13. Concerning the DFS 228 rocket-propelled reconnaissance aircraft (described by the Germans as a "glider with rocket unit for altitudes in excess of 65,000ft.") it was stated that the best employment of this type would be decided when test results were to hand. Many points were to be clarified; for example, baling out from great heights. Ten prototypes would be completed.   13. Three examples of the 8-332 rocket-propelled glider were ordered. This was a pure research aircraft for profile measurements at high Reynolds numbers which could not be obtained in the wind tunnel.   14. Work on the

sugar glider.

En kollega forklarer mig, hvad et angstanfald er, da jeg oplyser, at en elev har fået et anfald i en time. Han siger: „Det kan være godt at sætte sig på gulvet, det kan være godt at drikke et glas vand, de føler jo simpelthen, at de skal dø, du kan læse mere om det på nettet.“ Lille ven, tænker jeg om ham, ved du, at det jeg vil, er, at jeg gerne vil være ren, glinsende karamel, en karamelflade, der blødt reflekterer et træ i et vindue, at det hen gennem eftermiddagen langsomt skumrer. Jeg ønsker, da jeg står i Døgnnetto, tæt på midnat, med rystende hænder, efter at have forvildet mig ind til byen, at jeg var ren smør. Jeg køber frysetoasts og Petite Danone-yoghurt og mozzarellaost og en agurk, jeg vil spise det lette og salte og søde og det, der glider ned uden at tykkes. Jeg vil tabe mig, som man taber en rose, som et hjerte, der flyder over med smeltet ost. Som den hvide rose, Kim kastede fra sig, der er min gennemblødning, det olierede ved mig. At det er dét, jeg er, smeltendte og i evig fortsætten. Jeg fortsætter og fortsætter. Jeg fortsætter og fortsætter. Der er ikke mere, og det bliver ved.

A typical picture of a woman with children is of someone whose children are constantly breaking in. Perhaps she has shut herself into a room to write. Her kids have promised not to knock or to make noise. But she knows they are there because they are lying down and breathing under the door. Adrienne Rich longed in vain, amid “the discontinuity of female life with its attention to small chores,” for the “freedom to press on, to enter the currents of thought like a glider pilot, knowing that your motion can be sustained, that the buoyancy of your attention will not be suddenly snatched away.

The mildly venomous colubrid Chrysopelea is the flying snake of south-eastern Asia. It is up to about 1.2 metres in length, and has several arboreal adaptations, such as ridged ventral scales, and a flattened belly. However, it has taken arboreal existence even further, for it is capable of gliding through the air from tree to tree for distances as much as 100 m. When ready to launch itself, the snake extends its ribs forwards and outwards. This doubles the width and surface area of the underside, and creates an aerodynamic shape like the wing of an aeroplane. As it throws itself forwards into the air, undulations of the body apparently make it an even more efficient glider, although we are not sure exactly how.

Min födelse tvingade mig att leva. Så absurd var denna tillfällighet. Det fanns kanske många som verkligen hade velat leva men som inte blivit födda. Denna mekanism var så förstummande enkel - man kämpade för att få leva. Och samtidigt var den så mystisk - vem fick chansen att göra det? Och vem skulle ta den? Mellan andra och tredje månaden liknar fostret i livmodern en liten böna. Det är den mest riskabla tiden, då det kan gå hur som helst. Ofta går bönan förlorad; fastän den tillryggalagt en otroligt lång väg lyckas den inte börja gro och bli en stjälk med hjärtblad, längs vilken själen kan nå sin himmel. En böna glider ut som en liten bit kött i den blodiga massa som spolas bort i avskrädet. En annan böna håller sig fast, börjar gro och får hjärtblad tills den slutligen blommar ut genom att födas. Ja, och vem är det som får chansen? Jag var trettiotre och hade gett någon en chans. Åh Serafima, om din skitstövel till man inte slår ihjäl dig kommer din böna att hålla sig fast vid dig hårt, hårt, spränga skalet och pressa fram en livets grodd, växa och blomma upp. Och du kommer att bli en lycklig mor, dina bröst kommer att vara frodiga och fyllda av mjölk. Ditt barn kommer att trycka sig mot din bröstvårta och du kommer göra det lyckligt genom din mjölk. Den ska flöda från dig till barnet och binda er till varandra med en osynlig outplånlig tråd ända till döden och även bortom den. Så, kära Serafima, kommer det att bli om inte ...

My personal and professional existence is built on the idea that everything can be known, that everything must be known, and now here I am, on a bench outside judge’s chambers, and I’m on a green glider in Mar Vista pierced by understanding that nothing can be known at all.

Gunfire and other explosions ebbed and flowed all around us. We could identify the spatter and crackle of small arms fire and the heavier boom of artillery…We also listened to the whine of missile launchers and to men shouting at each other. The worst of all…was the horrible din…the sound of voices calling for medics…We puny humans had not changed the course of nature one iota…as I think back…I could cry over the futility of war.

Zombies, werewolves, vampires and ghosts are an escape from the real world because they don’t exist in the real world.

Blitzen fell out of his chair. Alex leaped straight up and clung to the ceiling in the form of a sugar glider.

getting on the House Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn’t the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he’d spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who’d listen about the time he’d almost hit a hang glider

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first-years never getting in the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories which always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn’t the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he’d spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who’d listen about the time he’d almost hit a hang-glider on Charlie’s old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about football. Ron couldn’t see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron prodding Dean’s poster of West Ham football team, trying to make the players move.

We are like passengers on a large aircraft crossing the Atlantic Ocean who suddenly realize just how much carbon dioxide their plane is adding to the already overburdened air. It would hardly help if they asked the captain to turn off the engines and let the plane travel like a glider by wind power alone. We cannot turn off our energy-intensive, fossil-fuel-powered civilization without crashing; we need the soft landing of a powered descent.

Thad landed his airship as they argued. As soon as it touched down, he realized it was never taking off again. The short wings had been damaged more than he thought. A little longer in the air and he would have become a glider that didn’t glide.

If you are sitting way at the back of a lecture theatre or cinema and do not find it entertaining, this dart will get your message across!

They all took another walk to the lighthouse, and he sat for a while, listening to the other three speculating on how they could maybe build a glider, or construct some ramparts, perhaps toss the dog up, toss Tim, and other such suggestions.

He lowered his chin and held his arms out like a glider, and every few steps he would jump, the way children do, hoping running will turn to flying. It might have seemed ridiculous to anyone watching, this white-haired maintenance worker, all alone, making like an airplane. But the running boy is inside every man, no matter how old he gets.

The Wrights used incrementalization to break the big problem of heavier-than-air flight into smaller component pieces. Then, they quickly advanced their understanding bit by bit. Each step supported each subsequent step of inquiry. They believed they couldn’t think their way to the right answer; instead, they experimented relentlessly with great frequency and at low cost. The Wright brothers were unabating experimenters. Their experiments included model gliders flown like kites, months spent with gliders at Kitty Hawk modifying structures and flight controls while gaining flying experience, a self-fabricated wind tunnel in which they could test scale models of airfoils to better understand how to generate lift, etc.

Although not comparing is the norm, it's only when another glider passes by that you feel your glider is speeding too.

Yay!” she hollered. “Jambu is the best! Uh — you’re an awesome glider! Good, uh . . . flying! Yaayyy!

The W right brothers were already the best and most experienced glider pilots in the world before they started to build a powered aircraft.

I have something for you, Harper.” “Really? What is it?” He took my hand and started walking me down the hall, “Promise me something, if you don’t like it, you have to tell me.” “I’m sure I’ll love it … you have it in the nursery?” I asked confused when we walked up to the door. “Promise.” “I promise.” I squeezed his hand tight and opened the door. I didn’t have to search around for it, or them should I say. “Oh my God. Brandon. Did you buy these?” Yes, I know that was a stupid question, but I couldn’t believe this. “Is that okay?” “No, I mean yes, it is. But Brandon, that’s a lot of money!” There was a dark cherry wood crib, dresser, changing table and a large leather glider chair. I remembered how much Brandon made from winning those fights, but I knew exactly how much these all cost since I was planning on buying them myself, and they definitely weren’t cheap. He shrugged, “I just need to know if you like them.” “I do, I absolutely love them.” He’d even put the bedding in the crib that I’d bought. “You shouldn’t be spending your money on this.” I walked over to touch everything and picked up one of the baby blankets Bree had bought and draped it back over the edge of the crib. Brandon came up behind me and turned me so I was facing him, “I wanted to do this for you.” “But that is really expensive Brandon.” “Harper,” he smiled softly at me, “please don’t worry about it.” I smiled and took a quick glance around me again, “Did you put them all together by yourself?” He nodded, “Bree texted me as soon as you guys left this morning. I had just finished when she said you guys were down the street.” “And you set up the bedding too?” “No,” he huffed a laugh, “I’m pretty sure I would have messed that up. They must have ran in to do it while we were talking.” That made more sense. “Thank you,” I reached up and kissed his cheek, “so much.” “You’re more than welcome Harper.

I’m so glad you came, Pam. This is the happiest I’ve ever seen him. You’ve given him his smile back.” Pam sank down on the glider beside her. “I don’t think it’s me. I think it’s you. I admit that, in a way, it’s hard to see him with someone other than my sister. However, it’s not as difficult as I thought it would be. You’ve helped him, Nic.” “Do you really think so?” she asked, the catch in her heart betraying her vulnerability. “Yes, I do. I was worried about him. Last year was horrible. Just horrible. Having Matty linger on like he did drained Gabe. I think that despite what the doctors told us, Gabe believed he could will his son well. The weeks after the funeral …” She shook her head. “I couldn’t reach him. No one could. When he came to Colorado, I was honestly afraid I’d never see him again. I’m glad he found Eternity Springs and I’m glad he found you. I like you, Nic. I think my sister would like you, too.” Nic

The study of wildlife was a household passion. Bob loved all reptiles, even venomous snakes. Lyn took in the injured and orphaned. They made a great team, and Steve was born directly from their example and teaching. “Whenever we were driving,” Steve told me, “if we saw a kangaroo on the side of the roadway that had been killed by a car, we always stopped.” Mother and son would investigate the dead roo and, if it was female, check its pouch. They rescued dozens, maybe hundreds, of live kangaroo joeys this way, brought them home, and raised them. “We had snakes and goannas mostly, but also orphaned roo joeys, sugar gliders, and possums,” Steve said about these humble beginnings. “We didn’t have enclosures for crocodiles. That came later, after my parents became sick to death of the hatred they saw directed toward crocs.” I soon became aware that as much as Steve loved his parents equally, he got different things from each of them. Bob was his hero, his mentor, the man he wanted to become. Bob’s knowledge of reptile--and especially snake--behavior made him an invaluable resource for academics all over the country. The Queensland Museum wanted to investigate the ways of the secretive fierce snake, and Bob shared their passion. When the administrators of the Queensland Parks and Wildlife Service wanted to relocate problem crocodilians, they called Bob. Meanwhile, Lyn became, in Steve’s words, “the Mother Teresa of animal rescue.” Lyn designed a substitute pouch for orphaned roo and wallaby joeys. She came up with appropriate formulas to feed them too. Lyn created the warm, nurturing environment that made Steve’s dreams, goals, and aspirations real and reachable. Steve was always a boy who loved his mum, and Lyn was the matriarch of the family. While Bob and Steve were fearless around taipans and saltwater crocs, they had the utmost respect for Lyn. She was a pioneering wildlife rehabilitator who set the mark for both Steve and myself. From the very first, I was welcomed into the Irwin family. The greatest thing was that I felt Lyn and Bob loved me not just because I was married to Steve, but for myself, for who I was. That gave me confidence to feel at home as a new arrival to Australia.

You are mad,” she whispered, walking toward the glider. It had a thin coat of dust on the top, and two handholds near the nose. No seat to sit in, no belt to strap in. Surely Mg. Thane hadn’t flown in this. No one could fly! It must have been a prototype. Surely a man couldn’t find groceries a bothersome chore if he could retrieve them in this!

She felt certain she could make the trip in a quarter hour on Emery’s paper glider, but he insisted that the world wasn’t ready for such eccentricity.

Ultralights are airplanes intended for recreational use, and limited in gross weight to 254 pounds and in speed to 55 knots. A taxonomist studying their ancestry would probably conclude that they are descendants not of airplanes but of hang gliders;

If and when I found him and he hadn’t got his danger fix, he’d be way more than just disgruntled. More like royally ticked off. Not the best time to share my recent revelation. One that shocked the heck out of me. One I wasn’t sure how to phrase. “Jake, you’re the love of my life.” Ugh. “You complete me.” Too Jerry Maguire. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Gawd, no. I felt my lip curl as I pictured him fixing his intense blue eyes on mine, waiting for me to explain. As if I could. This sudden about-face didn’t even make sense to me. I just wanted him, dammit, even with his insane stunts, like hang glider tag.

Sorry we can’t assemble it for you, but we’ve got strict orders,” said one of the burly deliverymen. “I understand,” Richard said, and reached for his wallet to tip them, but a glare from Evelyn stopped him. “I’ll show you out,” she said in her no-nonsense principal’s voice. The deliverymen followed her out of the nursery. Richard found the assembly instructions sitting on the glider. He picked them up and examined them. There were so many slots and screws, rails and rods, that he shook his head. This was not his kind of thing.

Ceony shook her head. “No. Except I lost your glider. That’s how I got to the barn.” “Hmm,” he replied, nodding. “I hope you closed the roof.” She hadn’t.

After dinner Marlboro Man and I sat on the sofa in our dimly lit house and marveled at the new little life before us. Her sweet little grunts…her impossibly tiny ears…how peacefully she slept, wrinkled and warm, in front of us. We unwrapped her from her tight swaddle, then wrapped her again. Then we unwrapped her and changed her diaper, then wrapped her again. Then we put her in the crib for the night, patted her sweet belly, and went to bed ourselves, where we fell dead asleep in each other’s arms, blissful that the hard part was behind us. A full night’s sleep was all I needed, I reckoned, before I felt like myself again. The sun would come out tomorrow…I was sure of it. We were sleeping soundly when I heard the baby crying twenty minutes later. I shot out of bed and went to her room. She must be hungry, I thought, and fed her in the glider rocking chair before putting her in her crib and going back to bed myself. Forty-five minutes after my head hit the pillow, I was awakened again to the sound of crying. Looking at the clock, I was sure I was having a bad dream. Bleary-eyed, I stumbled to her room again and repeated the feeding ritual. Hmmm, I thought as I tried to keep from nodding off in the chair. This is strange. She must have some sort of problem, I imagined--maybe that cowlick or colic I’d heard about in a movie somewhere? Goiter or gouter or gout? Strange diagnoses pummeled my sleep-deprived brain. Before the sun came up, I’d gotten up six more times, each time thinking it had to be the last, and if it wasn’t, it might actually kill me. I woke up the next morning, the blinding sun shining in my eyes. Marlboro Man was walking in our room, holding our baby girl, who was crying hysterically in his arms. “I tried to let you sleep,” he said. “But she’s not having it.” He looked helpless, like a man completely out of options. My eyes would hardly open. “Here.” I reached out, motioning Marlboro Man to place the little suckling in the warm spot on the bed beside me. Eyes still closed, I went into autopilot mode, unbuttoning my pajama top and moving my breast toward her face, not caring one bit that Marlboro Man was standing there watching me. The baby found what she wanted and went to town. Marlboro Man sat on the bed and played with my hair. “You didn’t get much sleep,” he said. “Yeah,” I said, completely unaware that what had happened the night before had been completely normal…and was going to happen again every night for the next month at least. “She must not have been feeling great.

The last lingering shadow of the Jesuit, gliding behind curtains and concealing himself in cupboards, faded from my young life about the time when I first caught a distant glimpse of the late Father Bernard Vaughan. He was the only Jesuit I ever knew in those days; and as you could generally hear him half a mile away, he seemed to be ill-selected for the duties of a curtain-glider.

let us not overlook that pioneer of aviation Oliver of Malmesbury, who in 1065 made a glider on which he launched himself from a church tower. He was discouraged by the breaking of both legs.

didn’t know a person alive that can hold onto a hundred bucks for an entire year when you had a penchant for all things Avatar. That glider replica I bought

My name is Brian Keene and I am either losing my mind or I am being haunted.  Or both.

Click click, bang. Curtains close, and ... scene. Type ‘The End’. None

I had been assigned to a four-person suite in Wharton Hall, among the most popular and storied dormitories on campus. Built in 1903, it exuded quaint collegiate charm. Gargoyles depicting every season and the signs of the zodiac decorated eaves of the building. Wrapping around three sides of an expansive patio, Wharton featured some of Swarthmore’s largest dorm rooms; ours included two bedrooms and a living area that easily accommodated four work desks, bookcases, the glider chair, stereo tables, and an ancient, disheveled couch.

Shane followed her and stopped short as he took in the room. She watched his eyes go from the metal bed to the rack of implements and back again. “Christ. This is where he had you?” She nodded. “And it’s probably where they were holding Jack.” Shane looked back at her. “You need to get some clothes on.” He unbuttoned his own shirt, shrugged out of it, and handed it to her. “Put this on.” She did, grateful that she was no longer standing around in her underwear. Shane turned and pointed his rile toward the door. “We’ll stay here until we hear from Jack.” She nodded, praying that he would be okay. “What happened? I mean, how did you get here?” she asked. “We came in on glider planes and mostly used tranquilizer guns to put the militiamen out of commission. We’ll be out of here before they wake up.” “Trainer and I were fighting when we both heard gunfire.” “You were fighting him? How did you get loose?” “I used a screw head on the bed to saw through one of the ropes holding my arms.” “Good girl!” “Where did Jack go?” “Trainer’s got some kind of Doomsday device. Jack and Max have got to stop him from setting it off.” She winced. “A bomb? He told me the door to this room was booby-trapped with a bomb.” “Oh yeah? Let me just take a look at that,” Shane answered, stepping quickly out of the room again.

Why did this music move her? Was it really a signal of some kind? They had all been so musical-both her grandfathers, Alexander and Jacob—and Genrikh … Genrikh … And from her heart a deep lament rose up and choked her, and it was as though it wasn't she crying, but Genrikh in her. Little Genrikh, intolerable little child who threw himself on the floor and thrashed his arms and legs, who wanted to fly a glider or an plane, whom they barred from his beloved profession of aviation—yes, of course, because his father, was an enemy of the people and ruined everything. He was robbed of his dreams, his hopes, his shining, beckoning future. Oh, poor Genrikh! Nora cried together with him, this boy, her future and former father, who had not been given the chance to live the life he dreamed about. He sobbed and gasped for then grew tired and moaned quietly, then howled again, and started throwing a tantrum. Nora just wiped away the tears. How awful! Would his grief never end? Would it never burn out, never die? Would it torment him, and Nora, and the newborn who had only just arrived and was not guilty of anything at all? Is it possible that the evil we commit never dissipates, but hangs above the head of every new child that emerges out of this river of time?

Some people sailed through life, as if riding one of those gliders her brother Gary liked to fly, taking off from the highest hill, not knowing where the wind would take him, but enjoying the ride the whole way. Sara wasn't the gliding type. She always had to make things a little harder for herself. "You're always getting in your own way," Gary had told her after she had lost her job in New York and confided to him she didn't know what to do next. It wasn't exactly the advice she wanted to hear. But the words had remained with her. She spent more time thinking about things than doing them. Another pearl of wisdom from brother Gary. Gary the freelance journalist. Gary the traveler. The glider.

They all fell onto the sand, then huddled up beneath the long wings of the hang glider. "Think we could borrow this thing for a little while?" Christina asked. "Think we could all go to jail with your Papa for stealing airplanes?" Alex retorted.

Her partner in crime, Ben. The one who’d accompanied her complicitously through the darkest and most shameful moments of her adult life: cradled in her arms as she wandered woozily around the apartment at night, entertaining thoughts of disappearing while she slowly hummed him pop songs; strapped into the backseat while she wept in the parking lot of the Whole Foods; taking over when she got too tired to finish reading to him from Harry Potter, too young to read but making up the story as he saw fit—then he found a werewolf in the woods, and it was really funny and then really scary but mostly funny ha ha ha and then everyone went to bed, the end, Mama. Mama? “Mom,” he says now, and she wonders if he ever remembers the late-night times of his toddlerhood when she would creep in and lift him from his bed and rock him back to sleep in the glider, Mama’s nuts about you, chipmunk. Mama wouldn’t understand the world without you in it.