I was too jitterbuggy happy to sleep, and the whole day kept playing in my brain's little screening room.

This is like a cookie, it tastes like a cookie having sex with a doughnut.

Get out of my way, you cakesniffers!” said a rude, violent, and filthy little girl, shoving the Baudelaire orphans aside as she dashed by.

We laughed the rest of the way, because the point of this story is, it is not the cookies. It is the love.

Taking one’s chances is like taking a bath, because sometimes you end up feeling comfortable and warm, and sometimes there is something terrible lurking around that you cannot see until it is too late and you can do nothing else but scream and cling to a plastic duck.

It is terribly rude to tell people that their troubles are boring.

I have a dream of what would have happened if what happened instead hadn't.