Olaf Once Said Quotes

With characteristic lack of false modesty, John once said to me, "My looks are a rough test of people. If they don't begin to see me beautiful when they have had a chance to learn, I know they're dead inside, and dangerous.

This isn’t fair,” Klaus said finally, but he said it so quietly that the departing islanders probably did not hear. Only his sisters heard him, and the snake the Baudelaires thought they would never see again, and of course Count Olaf, who was huddled in the large, ornate bird cage like an imprisoned beast, and who was the only person to answer him. “Life isn’t fair,” he said, in his undisguised voice, and for once the Baudelaire orphans agreed with every word the man said.

Count Olaf has been captured,” she said, and the Baudelaires felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck them once more.

Hang on, little guy,” she said gently. Once more, Elsa waved her hands. A swirl of cold air shot out of her fingertips and wrapped itself around Olaf, instantly refreezing him. Then, just to be safe, she created a small cloud from which a soft snow fell constantly. “Hey!” Olaf shouted happily, wobbling this way and that and laughing as the cloud followed him. “My own personal flurry!

So sensitive was he to odour and sound, that he found human speech quite inadequate to express the richness of these two universes. He once said of a certain odour in the house, 'It's rather like the trail of a hare where a spaniel has followed it, and some time ago a donkey crossed it too.' Both scent and sound had for him rich emotional meaning, innate and acquired. It was obvious that many odours that he encountered for the first time roused a strong impulse of pursuit, while others he sought to avoid. It was obvious, too, that many odours acquired an added emotional meaning through their associations. One day when he was out on the moor by himself one of his paws was badly cut on a broken bottle. It happened that while he limped home there was a terrifying thunderstorm. When at last he staggered in at the front door, Elizabeth mothered him and cleaned up his foot with a certain well-known disinfectant. The smell of it was repugnant to him, but it now acquired a flavour of security and kindliness which was to last him all his life.

Like many dogs, young Sirius found human music quite excruciating. An isolated vocal or instrumental theme was torture enough to him; but when several voices or instruments combined, he seemed to lose control of himself completely. His fine auditory discrimination made even well-executed solos seem to him badly out of tune. Harmony and the combination of several themes resulted for him in hideous cacophony. Elizabeth and the children would sometimes sing rounds, for instance when they were coming downt he moor after a picnic. Sirius invariably had to give up his usual far-ranging course and draw into the party to howl. The indignant children would chase him away, but as soon as the singing began again he would return and once more give tongue. On one occasion Tamsy, who was the most seriously musical member of the family, cried imploringly, 'Sirius, do either keep quiet or keep away! Why cant't you let us enjoy ourselves?' He replied, 'But how can you like such a horrible jarring muddle of sweet noises? I have to come to you because they're so sweet, and I have to howl because it's a mess, and because-oh because it might be so lovely.' Once he said, 'If I were to paint a picture could you just keep away? Wouldn't you go crazy because of the all-wrongness of the colour? Well, sounds are far more exciting to me than your queer colour is to you.

 Once inside, I stood in the shadows where I knew that I was out of sight and carefully peered through the windows. What I saw made my heart skip a beat. It was Franz Knüppel, making his way between some of the huge bales of rubber towards the forward part of the ship. In the dark I fumbled for the signal pistol kept in a box on the bridge for emergencies and rammed a cartridge into its chamber. Not wanting to lose sight of Knüppel, I quietly stepped out onto the wing of the bridge, all the time keeping my eye on him…. I don’t think that he knew that he had been seen, because by this time he had made his way to the bollard holding our bow lines. Still trying to stay out of sight, I quickly stepped forward and watched as he suddenly took a few steps to where he could leap across the open space between the dock and the ship. “What’s he up to?” I thought, as I saw him coming down the port side of the Farmington closing the distance between us. My heart was racing as I stepped out of the shadows and pointed the pistol at him from the bridge and said in my most convincing way, “Get off my ship or I’ll fry your ba11s with a flare!” I was so nervous that had I pulled the trigger it could well have happened. “I’m just looking for Olaf,” he lied. Acting as judge and jury I proclaimed, “The hell you are, he’s dead, you killed him and now it’s your turn!” I never saw anyone move as fast. Knüppel jumped to the dock and ran, ducking between the big bales of raw rubber. Suddenly all of the lights on the dock came on, illuminating everything within sight. The watchman having heard the commotion had thrown the master switch and now started blowing his English Bobbie’s whistle as he gave chase. I knew that the watchman was no match for Knüppel and hoped that he wouldn’t have to confront him. By now the entire Port of Harbel was awake! I could see lights going on everywhere, but Franz Knüppel, the deserter from the French Foreign Legion, eluded the watchman and disappeared into the dark. I’m glad that I didn’t have to pull the trigger because I only had one shot handy and would have had to make it count. I don’t know where Knüppel went, but the night swallowed him up!

… I said, “Jimmy, tell the Captain that Maarten will most likely call crying about me.” Jimmy laughed and said, “He already did!” Back on the river, fighting a seven knot current we made slow headway upstream towards Harbel. First my First Mate Olaf was murdered, and now my Chief Engineer. In my gut I knew that Maarten was right about who killed Eddie, but what possessed Eddie to have sex with one of the tribal girls was beyond me. He must have known the consequences if he got caught; I just didn’t understand what got into Eddie. Messing around with tribal girls was bad enough, but once they have been promised to someone else by the chief, it spelled real trouble. Suddenly the thought came to me that Maarten may have been fooling around with the native girls as well. Was it Maarten? If so how could he have twisted the facts around so that Eddie would take the fall? No ready answer came to me, so I would have to let it go. Besides, Maarten was alive and had a family. Without proof I had nothing, other than a lingering doubt.

Klaus had been writing down the details of the Baudelaires’ situation in this dark blue notebook, including the fact that it was the Baudelaires, not Olaf, who had burned down the Hotel Denouement. V.F.D. was a secret organization that the Baudelaires had heard about during their travels, and as far as the middle Baudelaire knew it had not been destroyed—not quite—although quite a few V.F.D. agents had been in the hotel when it caught fire. At the moment, Klaus was examining his notes on V.F.D. and the schism, which was an enormous fight involving all of its members and had something to do with a sugar bowl. The middle Baudelaire did not know what the sugar bowl contained, nor did he know the precise whereabouts of one of the organization’s bravest agents, a woman named Kit Snicket. The children had met Kit only once before she headed out to sea herself, planning to meet up with the Quagmire triplets, three friends the Baudelaires had not seen in quite some time who were traveling in a self-sustaining hot air mobile home. Klaus was hoping the notes in his commonplace book would help him figure out exactly where they might be, if he studied them long enough. “And the Baudelaire fortune is finally mine!” Olaf cackled. “Finally, I am a very wealthy man, which means everybody must do what I say!” “Beans,” Sunny said. The youngest Baudelaire was no longer a baby, but she still talked in a somewhat unusual way, and by “beans” she meant something like, “Count Olaf is spouting pure nonsense,” as the Baudelaire fortune was not to be found in the large, wooden boat, and so could not be said to belong to anyone. But when Sunny said “beans,” she also meant “beans.” One of the few things the children had found on board the boat was a large clay jar with a rubber seal, which had been wedged underneath one of the boat’s wooden benches. The jar was quite dusty and looked very old, but the seal was intact, a word which here means “not broken, so the food stored inside was still edible.