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My Westley will come for me.

William Goldman

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William Goldman
Age: 87 †
Born: 1931
Born: August 12
Died: 2018
Died: November 16
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Writer
Highland Park
Illinois
S. Morgenstern
Harry Longbaugh
Come

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The infant is ten and he stays.
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Have fun storming the castle!
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Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.
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You have a dizzying intellect.
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You are wonderful, Father.I'm more than wonderful, how dare you insult me.
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I don't guess. I think. I ponder. I deduce. Then I decide. But I never guess.
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Duhhhhhhh, tanks, Buttercup.
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Westly, Westly, Westly, Westly, Westly,--darling Westly, adored Westly, sweet perfect Westly, whisper that I have a chance to win your love. And with that, she dared the bravest thing she'd ever done: she looked right into his eyes. He closed the door in her face.
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He had risked his life and now it was walking away from him, hand-in-hand with a Ruffian prince.
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Get used to disappointment.
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Enough about my beauty, Buttercup said. Everybody always talks about how beautiful I am. I've got a mind, Westley. Talk about that.
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There have been five great kisses since 1642 B.C...(before then couples hooked thumbs.) And the precise rating of kisses is a terribly difficult thing, often leading to great controversy.... Well, this one left them all behind.
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Fezzik's in trouble, bubble bubble, His brain is just not in the pink, His mind is rubble, rub-a-dub double, Because everyone needs him to think.
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Mawidge is a dweam wiffin a dweam. The dweam of wuv wapped wiffin the gweater dweam of everwasting west. Eternity is our fwiend, wemember that, and wuv wiw fowwow you fowever.
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And what have I done? What? WHAT?...You've stolen them. With that, Cornelia fled, but Buttercup understood she knew who them was. The boys. The beef-witted featherbrained rattledskulled clodpated dim-domed noodle-noggined sapheaded lunk-knobbed BOYS.
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No. Not yet. A craftsman only. But I dream to be an artist. I pray that someday, if I work with enough care, if I am very very lucky, I will make a weapon that is a work of art. Call me an artist then, and I will answer.
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One way an author dies a little each day is when his books go out of print.
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There were some things you did, no matter what, and when a friend needed help, you helped them.
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Nobody knows anything...... Not one person in the entire motion picture field knows for a certainty what's going to work. Every time out it's a guess and, if you're lucky, an educated one.
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I'm not witch. I'm your wife.
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