“The Duchess set about studying Annette and shortly found her adversary's tragic flaw.Chocolate.”

“Look. (Grown-ups skip this paragraph) I'm not about to tell you this book has a tragic ending. I already said in the very first line how it was my favorite in all the world. But there's a lot of bad stuff coming. ”

“And when she at last came out, her eyes were dry. Her parents stared up from their silent breakfast at her. They both started to rise but she put a hand out, stopped them. ‘I can care for myself, please,’ and she set about getting some food. They watched her closely. In point of fact, she had never looked as well. She had entered her room as just an impossibly lovely girl. The woman who emerged was a trifle thinner, a great deal wiser, and an ocean sadder. This one understood the nature of pain, and beneath the glory of her features, there was character, and a sure knowledge of suffering. She was eighteen. She was the most beautiful woman in a hundred years. She didn’t seem to care. ‘You’re all right?’ her mother asked. Buttercup sipped her cocoa. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘You’re sure?’ her father wondered. ‘Yes,’ Buttercup replied. There was a very long pause. ‘But I must never love again.’ She never did.”

“He nodded, took a step away. “I’ll send for you soon. Believe me."“Would my Westley ever lie?”He took another step. “I’m late. I must go. I hate it but I must. The ship sails soon and London is far.”“I understand.”He reached out with his right hand.Buttercup found it very hard to breathe.“Good-by.”She managed to raise her right hand to his.They shook.“Good-by,” he said again.She made a little nod.He took a third step, not turning.She watched him.He turned.And the words ripped out of her: "Without one kiss?”They fell into each other’s arms.”

“Enough about my beauty," Buttercup said. "Everybody always talks about how beautiful I am. I've got a mind, Westley. Talk about that.”

“Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.”

“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.”