Let me get this thing straight, Inigo--we had SCRAPS for dinner? I'M in YOUR fantasy and the best you can come up with is SCRAPS?" She turned toward the door then. "You have no chance of winning my heart.

Cynics are simply thwarted romantics.

Chapter One. The Bride." He held up the book then. "I'm reading it to you for relax." He practically shoved the book in my face. "By S. Morgenstern. Great Florinese writer. The Princess Bride. He too came to America. S. Morgenstern. Dead now in New York. The English is his own. He spoke eight tongues." Here my father put down the book and held up all his fingers. "Eight. Once in Florin City...

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.

Westly, Westly, Westly, Westly, Westly,--darling Westly, adored Westly, sweet perfect Westly, whisper that I have a chance to win your love." And with that, she dared the bravest thing she'd ever done: she looked right into his eyes. He closed the door in her face.

Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something. If this is true, or if you are one of the people who believe this is true, then the one universal way to enjoy life is still the same, which is to learn to be grateful that it is not worse!!

Life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all.