They Were Maps That Lived, Maps That

I Can't Be Expected To Produce Deathless Prose In An Atmosphere Of Gloom And Eucalyptus.

Until We Consider Animal Life To Be Worthy Of The Consideration And Reverence We Bestow Upon Old Books And Pictures And Historic Monuments, There Will Always Be The Animal Refugee Living A Precarious Life On The Edge Of Extermination, Dependent For Existence On The Charity Of A Few Human Beings.

‎'all We Need Is A Book,' Roared Leslie; 'don't Panic, Hit 'em With A Book.

Animals Generally Return The Love You Lavish On Them By A Swift Bite In Passing-not Unlike Friends And Wives.

By Neglecting Our Garden, We Are Storing Up For Ourselves, In The Not Very Distant Future, A World Catastrophe As Bad As Any Atomic War, And We Are Doing It With All The Bland Complacency Of An Idiot Child Chopping Up A Rembrandt With A Pair Of Scissors.