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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And that's when she put her book down. And looked at me. And said it: "Life isn't fair, Bill. we tell our children that it is, but it's a terrible thing to do. It's not only a lie, it's a cruel lie. Life is not fair, and it never has been, and it's never going to be.
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How can the removal of beauty from a world so lacking in beauty be anything but tragic?
William GoldmanMots clés thought-provoking
Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches! If your love were-"
"I don't understand that first one yet," Buttercup interrupted. She was starting to get very excited now. "Let me get this straight. Are you saying my love is a grain of sand and yours is this other thing? Images confuse me so - is this universal business of yours bigger than my sand? Help me, Westley. I have the feeling we're on the verge of something just terribly important.
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 afar, weak and warm and familiar. "As...you...wish...
There's a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. It would be a pity to damage yours.
William GoldmanYou fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is 'Never get involved in a land war in Asia.
William GoldmanTo the pain means this: if we duel and you win, death for me. If we duel and I win, life for you. But life on my terms. The first thing you lose will be your feet. Below the ankle. You will have stumps available to use within six months. Then your hands, at the wrists. They heal somewhat quicker. Five months is a fair average. Next your nose. No smell of dawn for you. Followed by your tongue. Deeply cut away. Not even a stump left. And then your left eye—"
And then my right eye, and then my ears, and shall we get on with it?" the Prince said.
Wrong!" Westley’s voice rang across the room. "Your ears you keep, so that every shriek of every child shall be yours to cherish—every babe that weeps in fear at your approach, every woman that cries 'Dear God, what is that thing?' will reverberate forever with your perfect ears.
When was the last time you read a book? The truth now. And picture books don't count-I mean something with print in it.
William GoldmanIn the kitchen, Chub clung to the wall, made no sound whatsoever, but his mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, as he told himself, kept telling himself, that life was material, everything was material - you just had to live long enough to see how to use it.
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