Couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, didn't see why anyone would ask.

What happens when a woman who holds thirty-six patents and hates cleaning drags a garden hose into her kitchen?

What happens when a blind composer in a Viking helmet stands on the same Manhattan corner for thirty years and becomes more famous silent than playing?

What kind of person buries a 1927 Hudson in their backyard and denies owning a car?

What kind of woman eats cold oatmeal for lunch, sleeps with a revolver tied to her hand, and gets a personal visit from J.P. Morgan asking for financial advice?

Every night for years, Hans Christian Andersen left a note on his bedside table that read: "I only appear to be dead."

A man who had invented 2,472 people died asking one of them to save him.

He grafted a human tooth onto a rooster's head to see what would happen. It grew.

When the council rehoused him on the top floor of a tower block, it was specifically to discourage tunnelling.

The zoo that once refused to hire him now sends its directors to the training academy he built.

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

He never let anyone watch him work.

Every child who has ever ridden the Haunted Mansion passed through her grief and never knew.