Their laughter was like the stridulation of the ghosts of grasshoppers.
Do you love me, Westley? Is that it?_ He couldn__ believe it. __o I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. If your love were__ __ don__ understand the first one yet,_ Buttercup interrupted. She was starting to get very excited now. __et me get this straight. Are you saying my love is the size of a grain of sand and yours is this other thing? Images just confuse me so__s this universal business of yours bigger than my sand? Help me, Westley. I have the feeling we__e on the verge of something just terribly important._ __ have stayed these years in my hovel because of you. I have taught myself languages because of you. I have made my body strong because I thought you might be pleased by a strong body. I have lived my life with only the prayer that some sudden dawn you might glance in my direction. I have not known a moment in years when the sight of you did not send my heart careening against my rib cage. I have not known a night when your visage did not accompany me to sleep. There has not been a morning when you did not flutter behind my waking eyelids_.Is any of this getting through to you, Buttercup, or do you want me to go on for a while?_ __ever stop._ __here has not been__ __f you__e teasing me, Westley, I__ just going to kill you._ __ow can you even dream I might be teasing?_ __ell, you haven__ once said you loved me._ __hat__ all you need? Easy. I love you. Okay? Want it louder? I love you. Spell it out, should I? I ell-oh-vee-ee why-oh-you. Want it backward? You love I._ __ou are teasing now; aren__ you?_ __ little maybe; I__e been saying it so long to you, you just wouldn__ listen. Every time you said __arm boy do this_ you thought I was answering __s you wish_ but that__ only because you were hearing wrong. __ love you_ was what it was, but you never heard, and you never heard.
The Princess Bride
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Do you love me, Westley? Is that it?_ He couldn__ believe it. __o I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. If your love were__ __ don__ understand the first one yet,_ Buttercup interrupted. She was starting to get very excited now. __et me get this straight. Are you saying my love is the size of a grain of sand and yours is this other thing? Images just confuse me so__s this universal business of yours bigger than my sand? Help me, Westley. I have the feeling we__e on the verge of something just terribly important._ __ have stayed these years in my hovel because of you. I have taught myself languages because of you. I have made my body strong because I thought you might be pleased by a strong body. I have lived my life with only the prayer that some sudden dawn you might glance in my direction. I have not known a moment in years when the sight of you did not send my heart careening against my rib cage. I have not known a night when your visage did not accompany me to sleep. There has not been a morning when you did not flutter behind my waking eyelids_.Is any of this getting through to you, Buttercup, or do you want me to go on for a while?_ __ever stop._ __here has not been__ __f you__e teasing me, Westley, I__ just going to kill you._ __ow can you even dream I might be teasing?_ __ell, you haven__ once said you loved me._ __hat__ all you need? Easy. I love you. Okay? Want it louder? I love you. Spell it out, should I? I ell-oh-vee-ee why-oh-you. Want it backward? You love I._ __ou are teasing now; aren__ you?_ __ little maybe; I__e been saying it so long to you, you just wouldn__ listen. Every time you said __arm boy do this_ you thought I was answering __s you wish_ but that__ only because you were hearing wrong. __ love you_ was what it was, but you never heard, and you never heard.
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They say revenge is a dish best served cold. This isn__ correct. Revenge is a dish best served lukewarm or at room temperature (depending on the room) with a side of sauerkraut lightly sprinkled with pepper, a generous helping of golden brown roasted potatoes, and a large loaf of marble rye, washed down with any kind of unfiltered wheat beer.But whatever you do__nd remember this, as it can be a matter of life or death__on__ put any sort of fruit in the beer. Fruit doesn__ belong in beer.
Just behind his jaw bones a tiny movement was perceptible, like the movement of gills in a fish.
Franklin Fletcher dreamed of luxury in the form of tiger-skins and beautiful women. He was prepared, at a pinch, to forgo the tiger-skins. Unfortunately the beautiful women seemed equally rare and inaccessible. At his office and at his boarding-house the girls were mere mice, or cattish, or kittenish, or had insufficiently read the advertisements.
How happy I might be, if only she was less greedy, better tempered, not addicted to raking up old grudges, more affectionate, with slightly yellower hair, slimmer, and about twenty years younger! But what is the good of expecting such a woman to reform?
There are some young almond tress, which ordinarily look as if drawn by a childish hand. Now, as the wind sets their weak branches gibbering, they seem like shamanistic scratches on the white bone of the brittle bright night.