This World Is Suchier Than

One Of The Remarkable Things About Love Is That, Despite Very Irritating People Writing Poems And Songs About How Pleasant It Is, It Really Is Quite Pleasant.

Miracles Are Like Meatballs, Because Nobody Can Exactly Agree On What They Are Made Of, Where They Come From, Or How Often They Should Appear.

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.

Sooner Or Later, Everyone's Story Has An Unfortunate Event Or Two...the Solution, Of Course, Is To Stay As Far Away From The World As Possible And Lead A Safe, Simple Life.

I’m Not A Romantic, I’m A Half-wit. Only Stupid People Would Think I’m Smart. I’m Not Something Anyone Should Know. I’m A Lunatic Wandering Around For Scraps, I’m Like Every Single Miserable Moron I’ve Scorned And Pretended I Didn’t Recognize. I’m All Of Them, Every Last Ugly Thing In A Bad Last-minute Costume. I’m Not Different, Not At All, Not Different From Any Other Speck Of A Thing. I’m A Blemished Blemish, A Ruined Ruin, A Stained Wreck So Failed I Can’t See What I Used To Be.