When I was a kid I read a book about Sam Small, The Flying Yorkshireman. I read it in Hungarian… It was easier to read in Hungarian than in English… Ugh… that Yorkshire accent in writing… impossible to tolerate.

Anyway, this Sam Small could fly. And I decided that I wanted to fly too. I spent all my imagination… what it would be like to fly.

Unfortunately all my fancies were about escaping… I don’t know what it is about me: I still have nightmares about escaping, and there is always flying.

Read the original article: What gives you wings? What do you hope will give you wings?