Like a lot of people whose children were small in the 2000s, I read [Daniel Handler] books out loud and I loved them.

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 source of timber, or a potato pancake.

I have produced things that I would say were sincerely cheerful. But then I am reminded by other people that no one else would see them that way.

I write storys to entertain not to be the best

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.

I think I’ve always believed that there is one person in the universe who you’re truly meant for–for whom you are truly meant–and the fact that sometimes there are two or even more people on the earth you can fall in love with really bothers me. It suggests that if you work hard you can be meant for anyone.

What happens in a certain place can stain your feelings for that location, just as ink can stain a white sheet. You can wash it, and wash it, and still never forget what has transpired - a word which here means 'happened, and made everybody sad'.