ORSON WELLES' THE SPIRIT OF CHARLES LINDBERGH
Don't cry, please, baby.
There are never many,
never enough of them, but there are men born into the world...
with a gaze fixed on the widest possible horizon.
Men who can see without strain,
beyond the most distant horizon,
into that unconquered country we call the future.
Here are some words by one such man...
which I'd like to dedicate...
to another such man.
This is for you, Bill.
The Great Spirit of Charles Lindbergh is...
flying the sky into history.
And here are the thoughts he wrote down about it.
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.
There isn't 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 complete flight sink in.
It's like struggling up a mountain...
after a rare flower.
And then, when you have it within arm's reach,
realizing the satisfaction and happiness...
lie more in the finding than the plucking.
Plucking and withering are inseparable.
I almost wish Paris were a few more hours away.
It's a shame to land...
with a night so clear...
and so much fuel in my tanks.
It's for you, Bill.