You Can Never Trust What You Read.

The Countess Was Considerably Younger Than Her Husband. All Of Her Clothes Came From Paris (this Was After Paris) And She Had Superb Taste. (this Was After Taste Too, But Only Just. And Since It Was Such A New Thing, And Since The Countess Was The Only Lady In All Florin To Posses It, Is It Any Wonder She Was The Leading Hostess In The Land?)

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.

When I Left You, You Were Already More Beautiful Than Anything I Dared To Dream. In Our Years Apart, My Imaginings Did Their Best To Improve On Your Perfection. At Night, Your Face Was Forever Behind My Eyes. And Now I See That That Vision Who Kept Me Company In My Loneliness Was A Hag Compared To The Beauty Now Before Me.

Her Heart Was A Secret Garden And The Walls Were Very High.

The Boys. The Village Boys. The Beef-witted Featherbrained Rattleskulled Clodpated Dimdomed Noodle-noggined Sapheaded Lunk-knobbed Boys. How Could Anybody Accuse Her Of Stealing Them? Why Would Anybody Want Them Anyway?