A Quote by Robert Breault

I guess, when you get down to it, a loving touch compensates for an unskilled hand about everywhere except in an airplane cockpit. — © Robert Breault
I guess, when you get down to it, a loving touch compensates for an unskilled hand about everywhere except in an airplane cockpit.
Today's Multiple Choice Thought There is no place where a loving touch so completely compensates for an unskilled hand as in: a. the bedroom b. the nursery c. the garden
Flying through a hurricane is the most fearsome shaking you will ever get. Everything has to be tied down in the airplane. And the IMAX camera has to be rock-steady through all this. We had to design special mounts on the left and right sides of the cabin and in the cockpit to hold the cameras.
Now and then I miss the excitement about being in the cockpit of an airplane and doing new things.
Hop in? Dude, are you out of your ever-loving mind? I can’t touch this. I might leave a fingerprint or something. (Nick) Oh the horror. Guess I’ll have to trade the piece of junk in and get a new one if that happens. (Acheron)
I was always afraid of dying. Always. It was my fear that made me learn everything I could about my airplane and my emergency equipment, and kept me flying respectful of my machine and always alert in the cockpit.
I have no complaints except for the fact that I get very little time with my family. However, the happiness they feel every time they see me doing well compensates for everything.
I guess everywhere I go, I get inspired by those places, and then I have a bunch of Voicenotes on my phone. Everywhere I go, I think of these random melodies. It's crazy because everywhere you go, the melodies are totally different.
I belong to a group of men who fly alone. There is only one seat in the cockpit of a fighter airplane. There is no space alotted for another pilot to tune the radios in the weather or make the calls to air traffic control centers or to help with the emergency procedures or to call off the airspeed down final approach. There is no one else to break the solitude of a long cross-country flight. There is no one else to make decisions.
There's a lot of Hollywood bullshit about flying. I mean, look at the movies about test pilots or fighter pilots who face imminent death. The controls are jammed or something really important has fallen off the plane, and these guys are talking like magpies; their lives are flashing past their eyes, and they're flailing around in the cockpit. It just doesn't happen. You don't have time to talk. You're too damn busy trying to get out of the problem you're in to talk or ricochet around the cockpit. Or think about what happened the night after your senior prom.
Let the unskilled jobs that take absolutely no knowledge whatsoever to do — let stupid and unskilled Mexicans do that work.
Alan Greenspan is unskilled; you don't take the unskilled seriously.
What we're concerned about is massive immigration of unskilled workers, mostly from the Maghreb and Africa, which pulls down salaries in France.
If you are unskilled and uneducated, your job is going south. Skilled workers, educated people are going to do fine ’cause those are the kinds of jobs Nafta is going to create. If we are going to start rewarding no skills and stupid people, I’m serious, let the unskilled jobs that take absolutely no knowledge whatsoever to do - let stupid and unskilled Mexicans do that work.
I struggled with carpal tunnel for about 15 years to the point where I was going anywhere from acupuncture to chiropractor to actually getting a shot or two of cortisone to dipping my hand in a bucket of ice water during a show to buying a can of air. You turn it upside down and spray it on your wrist to get the frozen aspect of it and hopefully it wakes your hand up so I could get the feeling back in my hand.
I had the question asked of me before, 'What do you like better: singing or playing guitar?' If I'm gonna be totally truthful, if that microphone's in my hand, I'm loving it. When the guitar's in my hand, I'm a little nervous, but I'm still loving it.
At least that's what his note said, along with a scathing reminder that dishes didn't wash themselves and the fungus in the bathroom was one day away from evolving into sentient life. I folded the note into an airplane and sailed it across the room. It ended up perched jauntily on top of the ancient television. It looked good there and I left it as a tribute to freedom-loving fungi everywhere.
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