People who did it again and again until it was exactly right, or they were dead.

How do you paint a wild bird at exact life size without it moving?

What kind of man spends sixty-three years perfecting the instructions for his own stuffed body?

What was the greatest composer in Europe doing upstairs that kept soaking the ceiling below?

Why would a millionaire inventor lay out his nightshirt, mark a small cross on his diary, and fold his overcoat beneath the railing?

Who lobbies the League of Nations, twice, to adopt a calendar he designed himself?

What kind of performer turns down every replacement for a seat that no longer has a seat?

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

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