Is this a kissing book?

I don't like killing a girl," the Spaniard said. "God does it all the time; if it doesn't bother Him, don't let it worry you.

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.

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.

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.

Dummy, dummy, go out now and fill your tummy.

The infant is ten and he stays.