I Write Out Of Revenge.

I Have Stayed These Years In My Hovel Because Of You. I Have Taught Myself Languages Because Of You. I Have Made My Body Strong Because I Thought You Might Be Pleased By A Strong Body. I Have Lived My Life With Only The Prayer That Some Sudden Dawn You Might Glance In My Direction. I Have Not Known A Moment In Years When The Sight Of You Did Not Send My Heart Careening Against My Rib Cage. I Have Not Known A Night When Your Visage Did Not Accompany Me To Sleep. There Has Not Been A Morning When You Did Not Flutter Behind My Waking Eyelids.

Someone Would Have To Keep His Wits, And He Had Assumed Automatically That Since Fezzik Had So Few, He Would Find Retaining Them Not All That Difficult.

When I Was Your Age, Television Was Called Books.

It Was Only When The Giant Got Halfway Down The Incline That He Suddenly, Happily, Burst Into Flame And Continued His Trip Saying, "no Survivors, No Survivors!" In A Manner That Could Only Indicate Deadly Sincerity. It Was Seeing Him Happily Burning And Advancing That Startled The Brute Squad To Screaming. And Once That Happened, Why, Everybody Panicked And Ran.

One Of The Easiest Things In The World Is Not To Write... If It Were Easy, Everyone Would Do It.