Inside And Out, Westley's World Was Ripping

[prince Humperdinck] Was Seventy-five Minutes Away From His First Female Murder, And He Wondered If He Could Get His Fingers To Her Throat Before Even The Start Of A Scream. He Had Been Practicing On Giant Sausages All The Afternoon And Had The Movements Down Pretty Pat, But Then, Giant Sausages Weren’t Necks And All The Wishing In The World Wouldn’t Make Them So.

People Don't Remember Me. Really. It's Not A Paranoid Thing; I Just Have This Habit Of Slipping Through Memories. It Doesn't Bother Me All That Much, Except I Guess That's A Lie; It Does. For Some Reason, I Test Very High On Forgettability.

No. Not Yet. A Craftsman Only. But I Dream To Be An Artist. I Pray That Someday, If I Work With Enough Care, If I Am Very Very Lucky, I Will Make A Weapon That Is A Work Of Art. Call Me An Artist Then, And I Will Answer.

The Tears That Kept Buttercup Company The Remainder Of The Day Were Not At All Like Those That Had Blinded Her Into The Tree Trunk. Those Were Noisy And Hot; They Pulsed. These Were Silent And Steady And All They Did Was Remind Her That She Wasn’t Good Enough. She Was Seventeen, And Every Male She’d Ever Known Had Crumbled At Her Feet And It Meant Nothing. The One Time It Really Mattered, She Wasn’t Good Enough.

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.