Karen Blixen: I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills. The Equator runs across these highlands, a hundred miles to the north, and the farm lay at an altitude of over six thousand feet. In the day-time you felt that you had got high up; near to the sun, but the early mornings and evenings were limpid and restful, and the nights were cold.
Karen Blixen: He even took the gramophone on safari. Three rifles, supplies for a month, and Mozart.
Karen Blixen: She almost had me for lunch.
Denys Finch Hatton: It’s not her fault, Baroness. She’s a lion.
Denys Finch Hatton: Get in!
Karen Blixen: When did you learn to fly?
Denys Finch Hatton: Yesterday.
Denys Finch Hatton: You’ve ruined it for me, you know.
Karen Blixen: Ruined what?
Denys Finch Hatton: Being alone.
Karen Blixen: Perhaps he knew, as I did not, that the Earth was made round so that we would not see too far down the road.
Karen Blixen: If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?