William Goldman

"Just because you're beautiful and perfect, it's made you conceited."

"Inconceivable!You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

"Who says life is fair, where is that written?"

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

"I’m going to tell you something once and then whether you die is strictly up to you, Westley said, lying pleasantly on the bed. What I’m going to tell you is this: drop your sword, and if you do, then I will leave with this baggage here—he glanced at Buttercup—and you will be tied up but not fatally, and will be free to go about your business. And if you choose to fight, well, then, we will not both leave alive. You are only alive now because you said 'to the pain.' I want that phrase explained. My pleasure. To the pain means this: if we duel and you win, death for me. If we duel and I win, life for you. But life on my terms. The first thing you lose will be your feet. Below the ankle. You will have stumps available to use within six months. Then your hands, at the wrists. They heal somewhat quicker. Five months is a fair average. Next your nose. No smell of dawn for you. Followed by your tongue. Deeply cut away. Not even a stump left. And then your left eye—And then my right eye, and then my ears, and shall we get on with it? the Prince said. Wrong! Westley’s voice rang across the room. Your ears you keep, so that every shriek of every child shall be yours to cherish—every babe that weeps in fear at your approach, every woman that cries 'Dear God, what is that thing' will reverberate forever with your perfect ears. That is what 'to the pain' means. It means that I leave you in anguish, in humiliation, in freakish misery until you can stand it no more; so there you have it, pig, there you know, you miserable vomitous mass, and I say this now, and live or die, it’s up to you: Drop your sword!The sword crashed to the floor."

"I don't like killing a girl, the Spaniard said. God does it all the time; if it doesn't bother Him, don't let it worry you."

"When I was your age, television was called books."

"Screenplays are structure, and that’s all they are. The quality of writing—which is crucial in almost every other form of literature—is not what makes a screenplay work. Structure isn’t anything else but telling the story, starting as late as possible, starting each scene as late as possible. You don’t want to begin with “Once upon a time,” because the audience gets antsy."

"Cynics are simply thwarted romantics."

"Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

"Love is many things, none of them logical."

"Give the reader what they want, just not the way they expect it."

"Is this a kissing book?"

"I know something you do not know. I am not left-handed either."

"In Hollywood, no one knows anything."

"I write out of revenge."

"I’m going to tell you something once and then whether you die is strictly up to you," Westley said, lying pleasantly on the bed. "What I’m going to tell you is this: drop your sword, and if you do, then I will leave with this baggage here"—he glanced at Buttercup—"and you will be tied up but not fatally, and will be free to go about your business. And if you choose to fight, well, then, we will not both leave alive."You are only alive now because you said 'to the pain.' I want that phrase explained."My pleasure. To the pain means this: if we duel and you win, death for me. If we duel and I win, life for you. But life on my terms. The first thing you lose will be your feet. Below the ankle. You will have stumps available to use within six months. Then your hands, at the wrists. They heal somewhat quicker. Five months is a fair average. Next your nose. No smell of dawn for you. Followed by your tongue. Deeply cut away. Not even a stump left. And then your left eye—"And then my right eye, and then my ears, and shall we get on with it" the Prince said. Wrong!" Westley’s voice rang across the room. "Your ears you keep, so that every shriek of every child shall be yours to cherish—every babe that weeps in fear at your approach, every woman that cries 'Dear God, what is that thing' will reverberate forever with your perfect ears. That is what 'to the pain' means. It means that I leave you in anguish, in humiliation, in freakish misery until you can stand it no more; so there you have it, pig, there you know, you miserable vomitous mass, and I say this now, and live or die, it’s up to you: Drop your sword!"The sword crashed to the floor."