I'm Not Witch. I'm Your Wife.

Buttercup's Mother Hesitated, Then Put Her Stew Spoon Down. (this Was After Stew, But So Is Everything. When The First Man First Clambered From The Slime And Made His First Home On Land, What He Had For Supper That First Night Was Stew.)

The Duchess Set About Studying Annette And Shortly Found Her Adversary's Tragic Flaw. Chocolate.

Writing Is Finally About One Thing: Going Into A Room Alone And Doing It. Putting Words On Paper That Have Never Been There In Quite That Way Before. And Although You Are Physically By Yourself, The Haunting Demon Never Leaves You, That Demon Being The Knowledge Of Your Own Terrible Limitations, Your Hopeless Inadequacy, The Impossibility Of Ever Getting It Right. No Matter How Diamond-bright Your Ideas Are Dancing In Your Brain, On Paper They Are Earthbound.

I Say You Are A Coward And You Are; I Think You Hunt Only To Reassure Yourself That You Are Not What You Are: The Weakest Thing To Ever Walk The Earth. He Will Come For Me And Then We Will Be Gone, And You Will Be Helpless For All Your Hunting, Because Westley And I Are Joined By The Bond Of Love And You Cannot Track That, Not With A Thousand Bloodhounds, And You Cannot Break It, Not With A Thousand Swords.

No More Rhymes Now I Mean It!” “anybody Want A Peanut?” “aahh!