From the Bookshelf of Sci-fi and Heroic Fantasy…

There is no room in my body for anything but you. My arms love you, my ears adore you, my knees shake with blind affection. My mind begs you to ask for something so it can obey. Do you want me to follow you for the rest of your days? I will do that. Do you want me to crawl? I will crawl. I will be quite for you or sing for you, if you are hungry, let me bring you food, or if you have thirst and nothing will quench it but A

There is no room in my body for anything but you. My arms love you, my ears adore you, my knees shake with blind affection. My mind begs you to ask for something so it can obey. Do you want me to follow you for the rest of your days? I will do that. Do you want me to crawl? I will crawl. I will be quite for you or sing for you, if you are hungry, let me bring you food, or if you have thirst and nothing will quench it but Arabian wine, I will go to Araby, even though it is across the world, and bring a bottle back for your lunch. 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. Dearest Westley, darling Westley, adored Westley, sweet perfect Westley, whisper that I have a chance to win your love.

"Stupid, stupid, go and wait for Vizzini with Cupid"? That rhymed, but where was the Cupid?

"Dummy, dummy, go out now and fill your tummy." That rhymed too, but what kind of instructions were those?

What to do, what to do?

"Dunce, dunce, use your brains and do it right for once."?

"I, Inigo Montoya, do challenge you, coward, pig, killer, ass, fool, to battle."

"Enough of your family is dead for one day; be content," said the noble.

"When you beg me for your breath, then I shall be contented. Now dismount!"

The nobleman dismounted.

"Draw your sword."

The nobleman unsheathed his killing weapon.

"I dedicate your death to my father," Inigo said. "Begin."

As you wish.

The boys.
The village boys.
The beef-witted featherbrained rattleskulled clodpated dim-domed noodle-noggined sapheaded lunk-knobbed boys.

How could anybody accuse her of stealing them? What good were they? All they did was pster and vex and annoy.

"Can I brush your horse, Buttercup?"
"Thank you, but the farm boy does that."
"Can I go riding with you, Buttercup?"
"Thank you, but I really do enjoy myself alone."
"You think you're too good for anybody, don't you, Buttercup?"
"No; no I don't. I just like riding by myself, that's all."