I do not see how I could have enjoyed it, if the public had been expecting as much of me as there is danger now that they will. The perception of truth, of the duration of time, etc., produces a pleasurable sensation. Just before sundown, took our seats before the owl's nest and sat perfectly still and awaited her appearance. Agreeable to me is the scent of the withered and decaying leaves and pads, pontedarias, on each side as I paddle up the river this still cloudy day, with the faint twittering and chirping of a sparrow still, amid the bare button-bushes. It is the scent of the year, passing away like a decaying fungus, but leaving a rich mould, I trust.
Birds certainly are afraid of man.
They know very well that he is not humane, as he pretends to be. The tree whose fruit we would obtain should not be too rudely shaken even.