William Goldman Quotes
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I seemed busy, busy, busy, but I suppose, if pressed, I might have admitted that, for all my frenzy, I was very much alone.
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I am your Prince and you will marry me," Humperdinck said. Buttercup whispered, "I am your servant and I refuse." "I am you Prince and you cannot refuse." "I am your loyal servant and I just did." "Refusal means death." "Kill me then.
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When I was your age, television was called books.
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Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.
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He held up a book then. “I'm going to read it to you for relax.” “Does it have any sports in it?” “Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Poison. True Love. Hate. Revenge. Giants. Hunters. Bad men. Good men. Beautifulest Ladies. Snakes. Spiders... Pain. Death. Brave men. Cowardly men. Strongest men. Chases. Escapes. Lies. Truths. Passion. Miracles.” “Sounds okay,” I said and I kind of closed my eyes.
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Life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all.
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Tr...ooooo...luv...' Fezzik grabbed onto Inigo in panic and they both pivoted, staring at the man in black, who was silent again. '"True love," he said,' Inigo cried. 'You heard him – true love is what he wants to come back for. That's certainly worthwhile.' 'Sonny, don't you tell me what's worthwhile – true love is the best thing in the world, except for cough drops. Everybody knows that.
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Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something. If this is true, or if you are one of the people who believe this is true, then the one universal way to enjoy life is still the same, which is to learn to be grateful that it is not worse!!
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In Hollywood, no one knows anything.
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I guess the most amazing thing about crying though is that when you're in it, you think it'll go on forever but it never really lasts half what you think. Not in terms of real time. In terms of real emotions, it's worse than you think, but not by the clock.
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I can't keep my head above water one minute to the next: it's not just the parties and the goo-gooing with what's-her-name, I've got the decide how long the Five Hundredth Anniversary Parade is going to be and where does it start and when does it start and which nobleman gets to march in front of which other nobleman so that everyone's still speaking to me at the end of it, plus I've got a wife to murder and a country to frame for it, plus I've got to get the war going once that's all happened, and all this is stuff I've got to do myself. Here's what it all comes down to: I'm just swamped, Ty.
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He's right on top of us. I wonder if he is using the same wind we are using.
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Get used to disappointment.
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But just as he knew the sun was obliged to rise each morning in the east, no matter how much a western arisal might have pleased it, so he knew that Buttercup was obliged to spend her love on him. Gold was inviting, and so was royalty, but they could not match the fever in his heart, and sooner or later she would have to catch it. She had less choice than the sun.
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One of the things that happens to careers out here is that people destroy themselves because they begin to think they're wonderful. They begin to think they know what they're doing, and the minute that happens, it's over.
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Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.
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Anything there is that I can do for you, I will do for you; anything there is that I cannot do, I will learn to do.
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I write out of revenge.
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I’ll tell you the truth and its up to you to live with it.
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You seem a decent fellow," Inigo said. "I hate to kill you." You seem a decent fellow," answered the man in black. "I hate to die.
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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.
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It’s an accepted fact that all writers are crazy, even the normal ones are weird.
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Chapter One. The Bride." He held up the book then. "I'm reading it to you for relax." He practically shoved the book in my face. "By S. Morgenstern. Great Florinese writer. The Princess Bride. He too came to America. S. Morgenstern. Dead now in New York. The English is his own. He spoke eight tongues." Here my father put down the book and held up all his fingers. "Eight. Once in Florin City...
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One way an author dies a little each day is when his books go out of print.