Daniel Handler
Daniel Handler
Daniel Handleris an American writer and journalist. He is best known for his work under the pen name Lemony Snicket, having published children's series A Series of Unfortunate Events and All the Wrong Questions under this pseudonym. He has also published adult novels under his real name; his first book The Basic Eight was rejected by many publishers for its dark subject matter. His most recent book is We Are Pirates. Handler has also played the accordion in several bands...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth28 February 1970
CitySan Francisco, CA
CountryUnited States of America
This is love if it's not with you, a terrible fiery something that makes people look away, and it feels like a punch in the throat.
We laughed the rest of the way, because the point of this story is, it is not the cookies. It is the love.
I want to love you and take you pretty places. Yes, I have things wrong, but also I can walk through walls if you'll let me show you.
Sometimes words are not enough.
The movie was kickass, which was appropriate, because tonight it was called Kickass: The Movie.
There are some who go through life with a shadow hanging over them, particularly if they live in a building which has long wide awnings.
I think there are probably just as many adults who would miss the humor of my books, if not more, as there are children.
Waiting is one of life’s hardships.
Never look a gift lion in the mouth.
who would dare think that, forever? Some idiot girl who wouldn’t know how things played out.
The Basic Eight and Watch Your Mouth both have first-person voices, and I ended up investigating those voices and investing so much in them that I think many people took them more seriously than they ought to have.
The quoting of an aphorism, like the angry barking of a dog or the smell of overcooked broccoli, rarely indicates that something helpful is about to happen.
Wherever there’s a conductor, you’re sure to find a dead composer!
The Violins waltzed. The Cellos and Basses provided accompaniment. The Violas mourned their fate, while the Concertmaster showed off. The Flutes did bird imitations…repeatedly, and the reed instruments had the good taste to admire my jacket. The Trumpets held a parade in honor of our great nation, while the French Horns waxed nostalgic about something or other. The Trombones had too much to drink. The Percussion beat the band, and the Tuba stayed home playing cards with his landlady, the Harp, taking sips of warm milk a blue little cup. “But the Composer is still dead.