The easiest thing to do on earth is not write.
William GoldmanRead
Enough about my beauty," Buttercup said. "Everybody always talks about how beautiful I am. I've got a mind, Westley. Talk about that.
Interpretation
Beauty is often praised, but intelligence and personality deserve attention too.
In this quote, Buttercup expresses her frustration with being defined solely by her beauty. She demands recognition for her intelligence and personality, highlighting a broader message about valuing deeper qualities beyond mere physical appearance.
In practice
In a speech about self-worth at a women's conference.
The easiest thing to do on earth is not write.
Writing is finally about one thing: going into a room alone and doing it, putting words on paper that have never been there in quite that way before.
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...
Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.
Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.
Everyone had told her, since she became a princess-in-training, that she was very likely the most beautiful woman in the world. Now she was going to be the richest and the most powerful as well. Don't expect too much from life, Buttercup told herself as she rode along. Learn to be satisfied with what you have.
If we seek the pleasures of love, passion should be occasional, and common sense continual.
Falling in love consists merely in uncorking the imagination and bottling the common sense.
Woman is a ray of God. She is not that earthly beloved: she is creative, not created.
But if I lost you, it would devastate me as nothing else has or ever could. You have so much power over me and thatβs frightening.
Ecstatic Love is an ocean, and the Milky Way is a flake of foam floating on it.
She recognized the strange happiness that came from loving something without knowing why you did, that strange happiness that was sometimes so big that it felt like sadness. It was the way she felt when she looked at the stars.
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