This story is about the Baudelaires. And they are the sort of people who know that there’s always something. Something to invent, something to read, something to bite, and something to do, to make a sanctuary, no matter how small. And for this reason, I am happy to say, the Baudelaires were very fortunate indeed.

Dead women tell no tales. Sad men write them down.

'Help me,' Allison says, but she is soft-spoken, and everyone she loves is so far away.

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.

It was a curious feeling, that something could be so close and so distant at the same time.

Frustration is an interesting emotional state, because it tends to bring out the worst in whoever is frustrated.

Hup hup ha ha hammy hee hee!