I like to think that I get better and better as a writer, but it seems pretty easy to me to slip on disguises of various people.
Everybody has a theory.
Whenever you are examining someone else’s belongings, you are bound to learn many interesting things about the person of which you were not previously aware.
I can’t think of a story that doesn’t have something terrible in it. Otherwise, it’s dull. So when I embarked into the world of picture books, my first thought was to do something about the dark.
I was never a fan of anything, and yet some people are fans of my books. That’s a bit odd. But I like meeting them.
The world is quiet here.
There is nothing particularly wrong with salmon, of course, but like caramel candy, strawberry yogurt, or liquid carpet cleaner, if you eat too much of it you are not going to enjoy your meal.
I suppose I’ll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies.
This is love, and the trouble with it: it can make you embarrassed. Love is really liking someone a whole lot and not wanting to screw that up. Everybody’s chewed over this. This unites us, this part of love.
Miracles are like pimples, because once you start looking for them you find more than you ever dreamed you’d see.
Grief, a type of sadness that most often occurs when you have lost someone you love, is a sneaky thing, because it can disappear for a long time, and then pop back up when you least expect it.
How can someone so wonderful do something so terrible?
When do you learn that the world, like any diner worth its salt, is open twenty-four hours a day?
There are many, many types of books in the world, which makes good sense, because there are many, many types of people, and everybody wants to read something different.
But there are times in this harum-scarum world when figuring out the right thing to do is quite simple, but doing the right thing is simply impossible...
It is useless for me to describe to you how terrible Violet, Klaus, and even Sunny felt in the time that followed. If you have ever lost someone very important to you, then you already know how it feels, and if you haven’t, you cannot possibly imagine it.
It seemed to me that every adult did something terrible sooner or later. And every child, I thought, sooner or later becomes an adult.
Taking one’s chances is like taking a bath, because sometimes you end up feeling comfortable and warm, and sometimes there is something terrible lurking around that you cannot see until it is too late and you can do nothing else but scream and cling to a plastic duck.
The rinsed foam swirled into one drain that always clogged come October when the maples dropped Canadian propaganda over everything.
It was darker than a pitch-black panther, covered in tar, eating black licorice at the very bottom of the deepest part of the Black Sea.