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Kindle Notes & Highlights
Beatrice— Dead women tell no tales. Sad men write them down.
“‘He who hesitates is lost’!”
“We mustn’t hesitate! We must act! We must hurry! We must move! We must search! We must investigate! We must hunt! We must pursue! We must stop occasionally for a brief snack! We must find that sugar bowl before Count Olaf does! Aye!”
Snicket Snickersnee!
“A single spore has such grim power/That you may die within the hour.”’
It is one of life’s bitterest truths that bedtime so often arrives just when things are really getting interesting.
It is often difficult to admit that someone you love is not perfect, or to consider aspects of a person that are less than admirable.
The way sadness works is one of the strange riddles of the world. If you are stricken with a great sadness, you may feel as if you have been set aflame, not only because of the enormous pain, but also because your sadness may spread over your life, like smoke from an enormous fire. You might find it difficult to see anything but your own sadness, the way smoke can cover a landscape so that all anyone can see is black. You may find that happy things are tainted with sadness, the way smoke leaves its ashen colors and scents on everything it touches.
“People aren’t either wicked or noble,” the hook-handed man said. “They’re like chef’s salads, with good things and bad things chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of confusion and conflict.”
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