Don’t be absurd!” Jerome said. “Ruthless kidnapping villains aren’t in!
He found himself reading the same sentence over and over. He found himself reading the same sentence over and over. He found himself reading the same sentence over and over. But.
Not that kind of aristocracy,” I said with both feet on the floor. “Not an aristocracy of power, based on rank or wealth, but an aristocracy of the sensitive, the considerate, and the plucky. Our members are found in all nations and classes, and through the ages, and there is a secret understanding between us when we meet.
As I’m sure you know, 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 recently looked in the refrigerator of one of my enemies and learned she was a vegetarian, or at least pretending to be one, or had a vegetarian visiting her for a few days.
I saw a woman wearing suspicious lettuce!
No food at home?” “Our father is still very ill,” Squeak squeaked. “Let me take care of you,” I said, and walked behind the counter. “You can’t do that!” Hungry said. “This is my place! It’s private property!” “What it is is a kitchen,” I said, “and these are hungry people. Hungry people should be fed. It takes some people a long time to figure this out, so you think about it and have a seat. I’ll make enough for everybody.
So unless you have been very, very lucky, you know that a good, long session of weeping can often make you feel better, even if your circumstances have not changed one bit. So.
When I was shipwrecked recently, for instance, I had the fortune to wash aboard a barge where I enjoyed a late supper of roast leg of lamb with creamed polenta and fricassee of baby artichokes, followed by some aged Gouda served with roasted figs, and finished up with some fresh strawberries dipped in milk chocolate and crushed honeycomb, and I found this to be a wonderful antidote to being tossed like a rag doll in the turbulent waters of a particularly stormy creek.
A taciturn writer, for instance, might produce only one short poem every ten years, which is unlikely to annoy anyone, whereas someone who writes twelve or thirteen books in a relatively short time is likely to find themselves hiding under the coffee table of a notorious villain, holding his breath, hoping nobody at the cocktail party will notice the trembling backgammon set, and wondering, as the inkstain spreads across the carpeting, if certain literary exercises have been entirely worthwhile.
The trick is to succumb to enough pressure that you do not drive your peers away, but not so much that you end up in a situation in which you are dead or otherwise uncomfortable. This is a difficult trick, and most people never master it, and end up dead or uncomfortable at least once during their lives.
Wishing is merely a quiet way to spend one’s time before the candles are extinguished on one’s birthday cake.
You’ll soon find out that much of this job involves a lot of waiting around,” the hook-handed man said. “I usually keep something around to help pass the time, like a deck of cards or a large rock.
Are you ready?” Klaus asked finally. “No,” Sunny answered. “Me neither,” Violet said, “but if we wait until we’re ready we’ll be waiting for the rest of our lives. Let’s go.
Lucky don’t listen to your sister.
You know about all the villainous people who are lurking in the hotel?” Klaus said, equally incredulously. “Yes,” Justice Strauss said. “We observed rings on all the wooden furniture, from people refusing to use coasters. Obviously there are many villains staying in the hotel.
Of course, all nights are dark days, because night is simply a badly lit version of day, due to the fact that the Earth travels around and around the sun reminding everyone that it is time to get out of bed and start the day with a cup of coffee or a secret message folded up into a paper airplane that can sail out the barred window of a ranger station.
And Klaus, you are still wearing those idiotic glasses from reading too many books.
Akroyd!” Sunny cried, a phrase which here means “Roger.
Whether is was Uncle Monty’s library of reptile books, or Aunt Josephine’s library of grammar books, or Justice Strauss’s library of law books, or, best of all their parents’ library of all kinds of books – all burn up now, alas – libraries always made them feel a little better. Just knowing that they could read made the Baudelaire orphans feel as if their wretched lives could be a little brighter.
It was an emergency,” Violet said calmly, “so I picked the lock.” “How did you do that?” Mr. Poe asked. “Nice girls shouldn’t know how to do such things.” “My sister is a nice girl,” Klaus said, “and she knows how to do all sorts of things.