On the 9th of September 1965, I flew right into a flak trap, at tree-top level, 500 knots, in a little A-4 airplane—cockpit walls not even three feet apart, which I couldn't steer after it was on fire, control system shot out.
After ejection I had about 30 seconds to make my last statement in freedom before I landed on the main street of that little village right ahead.
And so help me, I whispered to myself: "Five years down there at least. I'm leaving the world of technology and entering the world of Epicetus."
—from James B. Stockdale, The Stoic Warrior's Triad
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