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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.

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
Love
Faces
Fled
Life
Future
Departure
Feelings
Entitled
Around
Sorry
Thought
Meaning
Firsts
Feeling
Moping
Nothing
Morning
Buttercup
First
Face
Cetera

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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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Flaws would not only bring death but, far worse, humiliation.
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Cynics are simply thwarted romantics.
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Miracle Max: Have fun stormin' da castle. Valerie: Think it'll work? Miracle Max: It would take a miracle.
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i have come to terms with my life, and that is my affair - i am not cold, i swear, but i have decided certain things, it is best for me to ignore emotion i have not been happy dealing with it.
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Fool! cried the hunchback. You fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is 'Never get involved in a land war in Asia,' but only slightly less well known is this: 'Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line.
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Everyone had told her, since she became a princess-in-training, that she was very likely the most beautiful woman in the world. Now she was going to be the richest and the most powerful as well. Don't expect too much from life, Buttercup told herself as she rode along. Learn to be satisfied with what you have.
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Look, are you just fiddling around with me or what? I just want you to feel you're doing well. I hate for people o die embarrassed.
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One of the things that happens to careers out here is that people destroy themselves because they begin to think they're wonderful. They begin to think they know what they're doing, and the minute that happens, it's over.
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Nobody knows anything.
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Inside and out, Westley's world was ripping apart and he could do nothing but crack along with it.
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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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I guess the most amazing thing about crying though is that when you're in it, you think it'll go on forever but it never really lasts half what you think. Not in terms of real time. In terms of real emotions, it's worse than you think, but not by the clock.
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Dummy, dummy, go out now and fill your tummy.
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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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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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Buttercup's mother hesitated, then put her stew spoon down. (This was after stew, but so is everything. When the first man first clambered from the slime and made his first home on land, what he had for supper that first night was stew.)
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I'm not witch. I'm your wife.
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You're alive! Fezzik cried. The man in black sat immobile, like a ventriloquist's dummy, just his mouth moving. That is perhaps the most childishly obvious remark I have ever come across.
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You have to protect your writing time. You have to protect it to the death.
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