Poison for Breakfast

by Lemony Snicket

I read something once that describes the sea as “all a case of knives” and I have never forgotten it. It is a description I admire very much, because it is so startling that you know no one else has thought of it before the author did, and yet so perfectly clear that you wonder why you never thought of it yourself. All good writing is like this. It is why a favorite book feels like an old friend and a new acquaintance at the same time, and the reason a favorite author can be a familiar figure and a mysterious stranger all at once.

22.A man is sitting on a train with a baby, who is very ugly. 23.In fact, the baby is so ugly that a nearby passenger says, “What a hideous baby.” 24.“I’ve never been so insulted in my whole life,” the man says, and hurries to the train conductor to complain. 25.“I’m so sorry, sir,” the train conductor says, when the man tells her he was insulted so terribly. “I apologize on behalf of the railway company.” 26.“Please allow me to move you to the first-class cabin, where you can enjoy a free glass of champagne,” 27.“and I will try to find some cheese for your pet rat.”

Some breakfasts I do not even open the book, but it sits beside me like a quiet companion while my thoughts wander all over the morning.

I get sad, when I think of my own wicked acts, although I suppose if I weren’t sad about them it would mean I didn’t care. I’m glad that I care, so I’m a little happy that I’m sad.

When you apologize, it is a bit like reaching the last page of a book. The book is still there, with your wicked deed inside, but at least it is closed and put on a shelf.

I grabbed my coat from a hook by the door. Sliding my arms into the coat always reminds me of the same thing— Where does the king keep his armies? Up his sleevies.

Remember what you learned, years ago: You’re never sorry you brought a book.

“In a manner of speaking,” I said, using one of my favorite ways of saying “No, you are wrong.”

Tzimtzum proposes that the world did come from nothing, but that the nothing was made by something, so something made nothing in order for something to come from the nothing, and this may be why we spend most of our lives drifting between nothing and something.

To think about something, you often need to pause first—to make nothing in your mind, just for a second, so there is room for you to think about what it

is that has grabbed your attention.