Writing Is A Dying Form. One Reads

In The Time Since The Baudelaire Parents' Death, Most Of The Baudelaire Orphans' Friends Had Fallen By The Wayside, An Expression Wich Here Means "they Stopped Calling, Writing, And Stopping By To See Any Of The Baudelaires, Making Them Lonely". You And I, Of Course, Would Never Do This To Any Of Our Grieving Acquaintances, But It Is A Sad Truth That When Someone Has Lost A Loved One, Friends Sometimes Avoid The Person, Just When The Presence Of Friends Is Most Needed.

I Know You Can't See It, Not You, Ed, But Maybe If I Tell You The Whole Plot You'll Understand It This Once, Because Even Now I Want You To See It. I Don't Love You Anymore, Of Course I Don't, But There's Still Something I Can Show You. You Know I Want To Be A Director, But You Never Truly See The Movies In My Head And That, Ed, Is Why We Broke Up.

They Were Almond Cookies, Although They Could Have Been Made Of Spinach And Shoes For All I Cared. I Ate Eleven Of Them, Right In A Row. It Is Rude To Take The Last Cookie.

A Bolt From The Blue.

One Of The Most Difficult Things To Think About In Life Is One’s Regrets. Something Will Happen To You, And You Will Do The Wrong Thing, And For Years Afterward You Will Wish You Had Done Something Different.