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Lemony Snicket
Lemony Snicket is the pen name of American novelist Daniel Handler (born February 28, 1970). Snicket is the author of several children's books, also serving as the narrator of A Series of Unfortunate Events (his best-known work) and a character within it and All the Wrong Questions. Because of this, the name "Lemony Snicket" may refer to either the fictional character or the real person. As a character, Snicket is a harried, troubled writer and photographer falsely accused of felonies, and is continuously hunted by the police and his enemies, the fire-starting side of the secret organization Volunteer Fire Department (V.F.D.). As a child, he was kidnapped and inducted as a "neophyte" into V.F.D., where he was trained in rhetoric and sent on seemingly pointless missions, while all connections were severed from his former life, apart from his siblings Jacques and Kit (who were also kidnapped and inducted). In the organization, he met and fell in love with a peer named Beatrice, whom he eventually decided to marry. He was falsely accused of murder and arson after a series of unfortunate events (after which the real-world series is in some ways named). Eventually, the fallacies grew so much that The Daily Punctilio reported his death. Beatrice eventually moved on and married Bertrand Baudelaire, becoming the mother of Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire, the protagonists of A Series of Unfortunate Events. Fourteen years thereafter, Beatrice and Bertrand were murdered in a house fire, leaving the Baudelaires orphan
Wicked people never have time for reading. It's one of the reasons for their wickedness.
Never trust anyone who has not brought a book with them.
I suppose I'll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies.
You can invent things like automatic popcorn poppers. You can invent things like steam-powered window washers. But you can’t invent more time.
If you have ever lost a loved one, then you know exactly how it feels. And if you have not, then you cannot possibly imagine it.
If you are interested in stories with happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book.
I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed this, but first impressions are often entirely wrong.
Sometimes, just saying that you hate something, and having someone agree with you, can make you feel better about a terrible situation.
Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night's sleep again and will spend their lives wandering…
Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another.
It is very frustrating not to be understood in this world. If you say one thing and keep being told that you mean something else, it can make you want to scream. But somewhere in the world there is a place for all of us.
It is very frustrating not to be understood in this world. If you say one thing and keep being told that you mean something else, it can make you want to scream. But somewhere in the world there is a place for all of us, whether you are an electric form of decoration, peppermint-scented sweet, a…
It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom…
Unless you have been very, very lucky, you have undoubtedly experienced events in your life that have made you cry. 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.
It had been a long day, and I don’t mind saying that I cried a little bit. There is nothing wrong with crying at the end of a long day.
It is a lonely feeling when someone you care about becomes a stranger.
Do the scary thing first, and get scared later.
It is a lonely feeling when someone you care about becomes a stranger.
'I'm not a stranger,' I said, and pointed to his book. 'I'm someone who reads the same authors you do.'