Lila was looking at me with some gorgeous indecisive loveliness, like she couldn’t decide if I was cool because I could talk to this guy, like we were two cool guys standing near her, or if I’d just dragged him down and we were two lame guys who weren’t Keith and that was all we had to offer.
aseaofquotes:

Daniel Handler, Adverbs

aseaofquotes:

Daniel Handler, Adverbs

“Help me,” Allison says, but she is soft-spoken, and everyone she loves is so far away.
That’ll take place tomorrow, unless the volcano erupts.” This was a San Francisco joke due to some rumors of a volcano lurking underneath the city. They had just discovered it, a volcano that had gone unnoticed but was now given official membership in the geological phenomenon known as the Ring of Fire. It was one of those news stories that made everyone giggle but might also be true. It was like love in that way: Look at this! What’s going to happen here?
#love #adverbs #danielhandler

#love #adverbs #danielhandler

The window rattles without you, you bastard. The trees are the cause, rattling in the wind, you jerk, the wind scraping those leaves and twigs against my window. They’ll keep doing this, you terrible husband, and slowly wear away our entire apartment building. I know all these facts about you and there is no longer any use for them. What will I do with your license plate number, and where you hid the key outside so we’d never get locked out of this shaky building? What good does it do me, your pants size and the blue cheese preference for dressing? Who opens the door in the morning now, and takes the newspaper out of the plastic bag when it rains? I’ll never get back all the hours I was nice to your parents. I nudge my cherry tomatoes to the side of the plate, bastard, but no one is waiting there with a fork to eat them. I miss you and I love you, bastard bastard bastard, come and clean the onion skins out of the crisper and trim back the tree so I can sleep at night.
"Oh my fucking Christ! don’t look, honey, don’t look! The man is dead, honey, that’s a dead man, oh god somebody call the police."

"Oh my fucking Christ! don’t look, honey, don’t look! The man is dead, honey, that’s a dead man, oh god somebody call the police."

now i’m that person that scans their favorite passages from their books and puts it as my facebook cover photo.
yep.

now i’m that person that scans their favorite passages from their books and puts it as my facebook cover photo.

yep.

theworld-isquiet-here:

You can say something and say something, and still nobody wants to hear it.

theworld-isquiet-here:

You can say something and say something, and still nobody wants to hear it.

theworld-isquiet-here:

Adverbs by Daniel Handler
Saltwater taffy is I guess made from salt water and a whole bunch of sugar, spun or woven or beaten into a substance they sell down by the boardwalk. If you’re in San Francisco, as this love story is, you can head south and see it being made in a shack, next to the shack where they sell tickets and next to the shack where they fry up calamari and give it to you for a price. Just follow the signs. You can’t miss the signs they put up.
This is love, saltwater taffy. Pretty much everybody has had some. Somebody offers it on a day when you have nothing to do, and most likely you’ll take it and put it in your mouth. It unites us, saltwater taffy, but whose favorite is it? Who likes it best? Just about nobody. So why do we eat it? This love story is about this style of love, this sweet thing that exists unasked for, that everybody eats out of the same bag. But also it is about what it says on the shack. I was there myself, and the large sign said: COME IN AND WATCH US MAKE IT.

theworld-isquiet-here:

Adverbs by Daniel Handler

Saltwater taffy is I guess made from salt water and a whole bunch of sugar, spun or woven or beaten into a substance they sell down by the boardwalk. If you’re in San Francisco, as this love story is, you can head south and see it being made in a shack, next to the shack where they sell tickets and next to the shack where they fry up calamari and give it to you for a price. Just follow the signs. You can’t miss the signs they put up.

This is love, saltwater taffy. Pretty much everybody has had some. Somebody offers it on a day when you have nothing to do, and most likely you’ll take it and put it in your mouth. It unites us, saltwater taffy, but whose favorite is it? Who likes it best? Just about nobody. So why do we eat it? This love story is about this style of love, this sweet thing that exists unasked for, that everybody eats out of the same bag. But also it is about what it says on the shack. I was there myself, and the large sign said: COME IN AND WATCH US MAKE IT.

theworld-isquiet-here:

Adverbs by Daniel Handler
My absolute favorite book and favorite author.

theworld-isquiet-here:

Adverbs by Daniel Handler

My absolute favorite book and favorite author.

Why are there so many moments like this, in her love story? Why is that there are so many ways it can go? Why can’t it just be the same thing, over and over, like a John Donne poem run off at the copy store with the receipt stapled to the bag, an identical John Donne poem for everybody in the classroom to ask the exact same questions about, so that sometimes you go home and drink a bottle of chianti and shout things up to your husband like, “Dissertations aren’t the same thing at all, because I have to work really hard on them!” Allison definitely loved him then, that nice guy Adrian. She loved him when he left his stack of work on the table by the cash register and she looked at all those panels. His first comics were about the end of the world, a time when volcanoes became angry and burned up everybody in Detroit and Los Angeles and other cities where Adrian had lived. Hell on Earth, nine issues numbered. She loved them, one through nine. She used to sit in her bathrub and read them several times, listening to the rustle of the pages of panels in the empty tub. It was too hot to take a bath and she loved him. Adrian scrawled two sentences on two pieces of paper and held them up for her, lines of dialogue. They were almost the same, but Adrian spent the whole day convincing her to care about them. She would waste every day with him and his shoulders, drooping under his shirt, as he would lean down and pull her out of the tub by her beltloops. Why couldn’t every moment be a copy of that?
When my mother was young she went to Thanksgiving at a friend’s house and asked her friend’s mother what she could do to help. “You can make a butter bird,” the mother said to my mother, and handed her two small paddles and a mound of butter. A butter bird is, butter shaped into the shape of a decorative bird, but the point is, why is there cruelty? Why do people ask other people to do impossible things? Why behave this way? Why is there mean, when there are better things than mean, love particularly?