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The boys. The village boys. The beef-witted featherbrained rattleskulled clodpated dimdomed noodle-noggined sapheaded lunk-knobbed boys. How could anybody accuse her of stealing them? Why would anybody want them anyway?

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
Stealing
Anyway
Anybody
Noodle
Boys
Witted
Would
Noodles
Accuse
Beef
Village

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I suppose I was dying again, so I asked the Lord of Permanent Affection for the strength to live the day. Clearly, the answer came in the affirmative. I didn't know there was such a Fellow, Buttercup said. Neither did I, in truth, but if He didn't exist, I didn't much want to either.
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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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Never argue with your wife about hostility when she's a certified Freudian.
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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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The first morning after Westley's departure, Buttercup thought she was entitled to do nothing more than sit around moping and feeling sorry for herself. After all, the love of her life had fled, life had no meaning, how could you face the future, et cetera, et cetera.
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For you see each day I love you more today more than yesterday and less than tomorrow. Just because you're beautiful and perfect, it's made you conceited.
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You're an enemy of art and I pity your ignorance, Domingo said.
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