A re-read. I liked this more on the second time!
Quotes:
I should have asked the question “Why would someone say something was stolen when it was never theirs to begin with?” Instead, I asked the wrong question—four wrong questions, more or less. This is the account of the first.
“Here’s a tip,” I said. “Next time you’re at the library, check out a book about a champion of the world.” “By that author with all the chocolate?” “Yes, but this one’s even better. It has some very good chapters in it.”
“Adults never tell children anything.” “Children never tell adults anything either,” I said. “The children of this world and the adults of this world are in entirely separate boats and only drift near each other when we need a ride from someone or when someone needs us to wash our hands.”
describing me as somebody who was an excellent reader, a good cook, a mediocre musician, and an awful quarreler.
The butler was standing on the lawn, facing away from us with a bowl of seeds he was throwing to some noisy birds. They whistled to him, and he whistled back, mimicking their calls exactly.
“The Mallahans and the Sallises have been friends for generations,”
I used to be that young man, almost thirteen, walking alone down an empty street in a half-faded town. I used to be that person, eating stale peanuts and wondering about a strange, dusty item that was stolen or forgotten and that belonged to one family or another or their enemies or their friends. Before that I was a child receiving an unusual education, and before that I was a baby who, I’m told, liked looking in mirrors and sticking his toes into his mouth. I used to be that young man, and that child, and that baby, and the building I stood in front of used to be a city hall. Stretched out in front of me was my time as an adult, and then a skeleton, and then nothing except perhaps a few books on a few shelves.
“Dame Sally Murphy is probably Stain’d-by-the-Sea’s most famous actress,”
Bombinating Beast
“Do you have a bulb of garlic, a lemon, a cup of walnuts, Parmesan cheese, pasta of some kind, and a fair amount of olive oil?” “I think so,” Moxie said, “although I think the cheese might be Asiago.” “Even better,”
two small hats I’d seen on the heads of Frenchmen in old photographs, both dirty, both worn, and both the color of a raspberry.
The entire statue was hollow, I realized, and for a moment I wondered if it had been carved to fit over a candle, so that the fire might shine through the eyes and mouth to create an eerie effect.
I turned it over to look at the base of the statue, which had a strange slit cut into the wood. There was a small, thick piece of paper pasted over the slit like a patch. The paper patch felt curious to the touch, like the paper wrappings on cookies in the bakery.
So you’re reluctant, I said to myself. Many, many people are reluctant. It’s like having feet. It’s nothing to brag about.
Scolding must be very, very fun, otherwise children would be allowed to do it.
There’s an easy method for finding someone when you hear them scream. First get a clean sheet of paper and a sharp pencil. Then sketch out nine rows of fourteen squares each. Then throw the piece of paper away and find whoever is screaming so you can help them. It is no time to fiddle with paper.
There was a small box marked MEDICAL SUPPLIES addressed to a Dr. Flammarion.
There was a long tube marked ELECTRICAL EQUIPMENT addressed to nothing more than a pair of initials that were unfamiliar.
“Because I like you, Mr. Snicket,” she said. “I thought you might find this place interesting, even if you don’t drink coffee.”
“If it’s a secret, why are you telling me?” “Because I like you, Ms. Feint,” I admitted. “I thought you might find it interesting.”
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