I Cannot Help But Think A Curious

Poor France, Thy Fine Climate, Rich Vineyards, And The Wishes Of The Learned Avail Nothing; Thou Art A Destitute Beggar, And Not The Powerful Friend Thou Wert Represented To Me.

If Only The Bird With The Loveliest Song Sang, The Forest Would Be A Lonely Place.

But The Moment A Bird Was Dead, No Matter How Beautiful It Had Been In Life, The Pleasure Of Possession Became Blunted For Me.

I Wish I Had Eight Pairs Of Hands, And Another Body To Shoot The Specimens.

The Best Recommendation I Can Have Is My Own Talents, And The Fruits Of My Own Labors, And What Others Will Not Do For Me, I Will Try And Do For Myself.