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But when a girl gives a boy a dead squid - that had to mean something.

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
Squids
Gives
Boys
Dead
Girl
Giving
Mean
Something
Squid

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My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!
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My Westley will come for me.
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The enemy is always in the mind.
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Westley: This is true love — you think this happens every day?
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Westley and I are joined by the bond of love and you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds, and you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords.
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Someone would have to keep his wits, and he had assumed automatically that since Fezzik had so few, he would find retaining them not all that difficult.
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Mawwage. Mawwage is what bwings us together today.
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I just know once you're over your emotional outbursts, you'll come up with-' I mean if we even had a wheelbarrow, that would be something,' Westley said.
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Cynics are simply thwarted romantics.
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Life is pain, highness. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something.
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At 8:23 there seemed every chance of a lasting alliance starting between Florin and Guilder. At 8:24 the two nations were very close to war.
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The Queen's Pride was his ship, and he loved her. (That was the way his sentences always went: It is raining today and I love you. My cold is better and I love you. Say hello to Horse and I love you. Like that.)
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You think this is a trap then? the Count asked. I always think everything is a trap until proven otherwise, the Prince answered. Which is why I'm still alive.
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Get used to disappointment.
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Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches.
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The hollowness was in his arms and the world was snowing.
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Love is many things none of them logical.
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While he was watching the ships, Buttercup shoved him with all her strength remaining. [...] Down went the man in black. [...] You can die too for all I care, she said, and then she turned away. Words followed her. Whispered from far, weak and warm and familiar. As...you...wish...
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You can never trust what you read.
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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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