Happy indeed is the naturalist: to him the seasons come round like old friends; to him the birds sing: as he walks along, the flowers stretch out from the hedges, or look up from the ground, and as each year fades away, he looks back on a fresh store of happy memories.
Sir John Lubbock (1897). “The Beauties of Nature and the Wonders of the World We Live In”, p.5, Library of Alexandria
