People who were told no and heard it as a dare.

She sent fourteen unsolicited watercolors to a stranger in rural Japan. That stranger was Georgia O'Keeffe, and she wrote back.

He kept pigs as hunting dogs, trained otters to fish, and when the King of England finally summoned him to court, he had a scheduling conflict.

She had a coffin she liked to lie in before writing each morning, to focus her mind.

She arrived at the Royal Society in 1666, critiqued their methods to their faces, and they used her visit as justification to ban every woman who came after her — for 278 years.

Alexander von Humboldt, the most celebrated scientist alive, wrote to the dictator of Paraguay personally. Francia made no answer. For nine years.

She arrived to negotiate a peace treaty, noticed there was no chair for her, and solved the problem immediately.

When Trinity College banned dogs from student rooms, Byron checked the statutes, confirmed they said nothing about bears, and installed one.

She quit the throne, converted to the religion that was illegal for her to hold, and left Sweden in men's clothing — but she didn't leave empty-handed.

A century before the Civil War, a four-foot-seven cave-dweller in a military coat walked into a Quaker meeting and sprayed fake blood on every slaveholder in the room.

Plato defined a human being as a featherless biped, and someone showed up with a chicken.

At fifty-five, she disguised herself as a beggar pilgrim and walked into the most forbidden city on earth.

He left home for a sixteen-month pilgrimage and came back twenty-four years later.