You seem a decent fellow," Inigo said. "I hate to kill you." You seem a decent fellow," answered the man in black. "I hate to die.

You seem a decent fellow," Inigo said. "I hate to kill you." You seem a decent fellow," answered the man in black. "I hate to die.

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.

I must be overtired', Buttercup managed. 'The excitement and all.' 'Rest then', her mother cautioned. 'Terrible things can happen when you're overtired. I was overtired the night your father proposed.

One of the easiest things in the world is not to write... If it were easy, everyone would do it.

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.

I don't guess. I think. I ponder. I deduce. Then I decide. But I never guess.