As Far As The Filmmaking

Inside And Out, Westley's World Was Ripping Apart And He Could Do Nothing But Crack Along With It.

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

The Countess Was Considerably Younger Than Her Husband. All Of Her Clothes Came From Paris (this Was After Paris) And She Had Superb Taste. (this Was After Taste Too, But Only Just. And Since It Was Such A New Thing, And Since The Countess Was The Only Lady In All Florin To Posses It, Is It Any Wonder She Was The Leading Hostess In The Land?)

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.

Dummy, Dummy, Go Out Now And Fill Your Tummy.