"I must be overtired," Buttercup managed. "The excitement and all."
"Rest, then," her mother cautioned. "Terrible things can happen when you're overtired. I was overtired the night your father proposed."
Chapter 1: The Bride, Page 45
Buttercup went to her room. She lay on her bed. She closed her eyes.
And the Countess was staring at Westley.
Buttercup got up from bed. She took off her clothes. She washed a little. She got into her nightgown. She slipped between the sheets, snuggled down, closed her eyes.
The Countess was still staring at Westley!
Buttercup threw back the sheets, opened her door. She went to the sink by the stove and poured herself a cup of water. She drank it down. She poured another cup and rolled its coolness across her forehead. The feverish feeling was still there.
How feverish? She felt fine. She was seventeen, and not even a cavity. She dumped the water firmly into the sink, turned, marched back to her room, shut the door tight, went back to bed. She closed her eyes.
The Countess would not stop staring at Westley!
Chapter 1: The Bride, Page 45
"You're just crazy if you think she's going to be happy in some run-down farmhouse in America. Not with what she spends on clothes."
"Stop talking about the Countess! As a special favor. Before you drive me maaaaaaaad."
Buttercup looked at him.
"Don't you understand anything that's going on?"
Buttercup shook her head.
Westley shook his too. "You never have been the brightest, I guess."
"Do you love me, Westley? Is that it?"
He couldn't believe it. "Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. If your love were--"
"I don't understand that first one yet," Buttercup interrupted. She was starting to get very excited now. "Let me get this straight. Are you saying my love is the size of a grain of sand and yours is this other thing? Images just confuse me so -- is this universal business of yours bigger than my sand? Help me, Westley. I have the feeling we're on the verge of something just terribly important."
"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 eyelids... Is any of this getting through to you, Buttercup, or do you want me to go on for a while?"
"There has not been--"
"If you're teasing me, Westley, I'm just going to kill you."
"How can you even dream I might be teasing?"
"Well, you haven't once said you loved me."
"That's all you need? Easy. I love you. Okay? Want it louder? I love you. Spell it out, should I? I ell-oh-vee-ee why-oh-you. Want it backward? You love I."
Chapter 1: The Bride, Page 51 & 52
"Your father is dying."
"Drat!" said the Prince. "That means I shall have to get married."
Chapter 2: The Groom, Page 62
"I am your Prince and you will marry me," Humperdinck said.
Buttercup whispered, "I am your servant and I refuse."
"I am your Prince and you cannot refuse."
"I am your loyal servant and I just did."
"Refusal means death."
"Kill me then."
"I am your Prince and I'm not that bad -- how could you rather be dead than married to me?"
"Because," Buttercup said, "marriage involves love, and that is not a pastime at which I excel. I tried once, and it went badly, and I am sworn never to love another."
"Love?" said Prince Humperdinck. "Who mentioned love? Not me, I can tell you. Look: there must always be a male heir to the throne of Florin. That's me. Once my father dies, there won't be an heir, just a king. That's me again. When that happens, I'll marry and have children until there is a son. So you can either marry me and be the richest and most powerful woman in a thousand miles and give turkeys away at Christmas and provide me a son, or you can die in terrible pain in the very near future. Make up your own mind."
"I'll never love you."
"I wouldn't want it if I had it."
"Then by all means let us marry."
Chapter 3: The Courtship, Page 72
"He'll never catch up!" the Sicilian cried. "Inconceivable!"
"You keep using that word!" the Spaniard snapped. "I don't think it means what you think it does."
Chapter 5: The Announcement, Page 92