In the days that followed, the Baudelaire orphans had pits in their stomachs. In Sunny’s case it was understandable, because when Klaus had divided the peach, she had gotten the part with the pit.
If you spent less time reading and more time thinking about lumber, you’d care more about money and less about people!
You’ll have to observe everyone you see, and make such judgments yourselves.
You and I, of course, would never do this to any of our grieving acquaintances, but it is a sad truth in life that when someone has lost a loved one, friends sometimes avoid the person, just when the presence of friends is most needed. – P. 34.
There was a philosopher who said that all of life is just shadows. He said that people were just sitting in a cave, watching shadows on the cave wall. Aye – shadows of something much bigger and grander than themselves.
You might compare your pimple situation to that of someone who was being eaten by a bear, and when you looked in the mirror at your ugly pimple, you could say to yourself, “Well, at least I’m not being eaten by a bear.
But the sad truth is that the truth is sad, and what you want does not matter.
The Baudelaires looked up and saw their guardian standing in the doorway of Violet’s.
And a refrigerator may hold a basket of strawberries, which would be important if a maniac said to you, “If you don’t give me a basket of strawberries right now, I’m going to poke you with this large stick.
The whole thing is like a jigsaw puzzle, but there are too many missing pieces to solve it.
Not only am I intelligent,” Genghis agreed, “but I’m also very smart.
How could she live?” he asked. “She betrayed me. She betrayed all of us. How could someone so wonderful do something so terrible?
I had seen buildings burn before, as part of my training and as part of my childhood. I had seen small homes and enormous mansions devoured by fire, and I had seen flames destroy factories and symphony halls and houses of worship. A school seems worse, I thought as the fire roared into the sky. Even when the school is empty, it’s a terrible thing.
The Hemlock Tearoom and Stationery.
Quagmires, remember?
I recommend learning how to write a very good thank-you note. A child who can write a nice thank-you note can turn into a cocaine dealer five years later and be remembered as child who wrote nice thank-you notes.
I never thought I’d live to see the day.
Uncle Monty tell.
It was a sickness in my stomach and in my mouth and even in my heart. The symptoms were nervousness and dread. I don’t know what the illness is called. I’ve had it since I was a child.
It was something from the earth or the sky or the sea, or from a dream or the pages of a book I wasn’t yet old enough to read, about monsters I wasn’t brave enough to face. Soon it was an immense noise that rattled everything in my body. It was the sound of being chased in a nightmare, or the blind and violent fury of a bad parent, a tantrum that deafened the ears of the living and slithered across the bones of the dead.