Jesteśmy społecznością, która kocha książki

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.

Even today, that's how I summon back my father when the need arises. Slumped and squinting and halting over words, giving me Morgenstern's masterpiece as best he could. The Princess Bride belonged to my father.

But my father only read me the action stuff, the good parts. He never bothered with the serious side at all.

Prince Humperdinck actually ran things. If there had been a Europe, he would have been the most powerful man in it. Even as it was, nobody within a thousand miles wanted to mess with him.

Flailing and thrashing, Buttercup wept and tossed and paced and wept some more, and there have been three great cases of jealousy since David of Galilee was first afflicted with the emotion when he could no longer stand the fact that his neighbor Saul's cactus outshone his own. (Originally, jealousy pertained solely to plants, other people's cactus or ginkgoes, or later, when there was grass, grass, which is why, even to this day, we say that someone is green with jealousy.) Buttercup's case rated a close fourth on the all-time list.

There have been five great kisses since 1642 B.C. ... (before then couples hooked thumbs.) And the precise rating of kisses is a terribly difficult thing, often leading to great controversy...Well, this one left them all behind.

Hunting was [Humperdinck's] love.
Once he was determined, once he had focused on an object, the Prince was relentless. He never tired, never wavered, neither ate nor slept. It was death chess and he was international grand master.

I didn't even know this chapter existed until I began the 'good parts' version. All my father used to say at this point was, "What with one thing and another, three years passed," and then he'd explain how the day came when Buttercup was officially introduced to the world as the coming queen, and how the Great Square of Florin City was filled as never before, awaiting her introduction, and by then he was into the terrific business dealing with the kidnapping.
Would you believe that in the original Morgenstern this was the longest chapter in the book?

But from a narrative point of view, in 105 pages nothing happens. Except this: What with one thing and another, three years passed.

The battle of wits has begun (...). It ends when you decide and we drink and find out who is right and who is dead.

But Westley, as the lever moved, took his brain away, and when the Machine began, Westley was stroking her autumn-coloured hair and touching her skin of wintry cream and - and - and then his world exploded... In humiliation, and suffering, and frustration, and anger, and anguish so great it was dizzying, Westley cried like a baby.
"Interesting," said the Count, and carefully noted it down.