I'd made pretty clear to the people at Paramount and Dreamworks that, if they wanted Lemony Snicket to comment, he would be completely horrified by the entire film. And as long as they understood that, it was okay. I'm not much of a fan of DVD commentaries myself, so this was my way of getting revenge, in a sense, for all the puffed-up directors and stars who talk endlessly about the self-aggrandizing minutiae of making a movie.

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

The key to good eavesdropping is not getting caught.

I don't know why wicked places generally look wicked. You'd think they'd look nice, to fool people, but they hardly ever do.

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

In love, as in life, one misheard word can be tremendously important. If you tell someone you love them, for instance, you must be absolutely certain that they have replied "I love you back" and not "I love your back" before you continue the conversation.

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