March 2010
4 posts
‘There are readings- of the same text- that are dutiful, readings that map and dissect, reading that hear a rustling of unheard sounds, that count grey little pronouns for pleasure or instruction, and for a time do not hear golden or apples. There are personal readings, that snatch for personal readings, I am full of love, or disgust, or fear, I scan for love, or disgust, or fear. There...
Buttercup: Westley. Oh, Westley darling! [Buttercup kisses Westley passionately] Buttercup: Westley, why won’t you hold me? Westley: Gently. Buttercup: At a time like this, that’s all you can think to say. Gently? [Buttercup continues kissing Westley and lifts up his head] Westley: Gently! [Westely’s head falls and he winces] Westley: Ughhhh!
-The Princess Bride
‘By necessity, I suppose, it is difficult for me to explain in English exactly what i mean. I can only say that an incendium is in its nature entirely different from the feu with which a Frenchman lights his cigarette, and both are very different from the stark, inhuman pur that the Greeks knew, the pur that roared from the towers of Ilion, or leapt and screamed on that desolate, windy beach...
“‘Your true love lives. And you marry another. True Love saved her in the...”
– the ancient boo-er, The Princess Bride