This is love, to sit with someone you've known forever in a place you've been meaning to go, and watching as their life happens to them until you stand up and it's time to go.

If you know somebody very well, like your grandmother or your baby sister, you will know when they are real and when they are fake.

Why not rise from the grave and terrorize a little instead of staying buried and dead in the cemetery?

Lately it has become more and more difficult to attend dinner parties without the evening ending in gunfire or tapioca.

I never thought about whether film is inherently more sincere, because certainly I think if Guy Maddin had directed A Series Of Unfortunate Events, there probably could have been more of the stage-y irony that is in the books. But I was just interested to see what people would do with it, and worrying that Brad Silberling wouldn't do what I had in mind.

Tears are curious things, for like earthquakes or puppet shows, they can occur at any time, without any warning and without any good reason.

I wore it, this careless thing you don't even remember giving to me from your bag. It wasn't a gift, this thing I'm returning. It was barely a gesture, almost forgotten already, this thing I wore like it was dear to me. And it was. No wonder we broke up.