He sounded like a man who had slept well and didn't owe too much money.
She was thinking. i could see, even on that short acquaintance, that thinking was always going to be a bother for her.
I don't mind your showing me your legs. They're very swell legs and it's a pleasure to make their acquaintace. I don't mind if you don't like my manners. They're pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter nights.
She'd make for a jazzy week-end, but she'd be wearing for a steady diet.
I looked down at the chessboard. The move with the knight was wrong. I put it back where I had moved it from. Knights had no meaning in this game. It wasn't a game for knights.
Such a lot of guns around town and so few brains. You're the second guy I've met within hours who seems to think a gat in the hand means a world by the tail.
I sat down on the edge of a deep soft chair and looked at Mrs Regan. She was worth a stare. She was trouble.
Under the thinning fog the surf curled and creamed, almost without sound, like a thought trying to form inself on the edge of consciousness.
It seemed like a nice neighborhood to have bad habits in.
You can have a hangover from other things than alcohol. I had one from women.
It was a smooth silvery voice that matched her hair. It had a tiny tinkle in it, like bells in a doll's house. I thought that was silly as soon as I thought of it.
You were dead, you were sleeping the big sleep, you were not bothered by things like that, oil and water were the same as wind and air to you. You just slept the big sleep, not caring about the nastiness of how you died or where you fell. Me, I was part of the nastiness now. Far more a part of it than Rusty Regan was.
It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark little clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn't care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.
It's so hard for women-even nice women-to realize that their bodies are not irresistible.
As honest as you can expect a man to be in a world where its going out of style.
Neither of the two people in the room paid any attention to the way I came in, although only one of them was dead.
Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.
She bent over me again. Blood began to move around in me, like a prospective tenant looking over a house.
Hair like steel wool grew far back on his head and gave him a domed brown forehead that might at careless glance seemed a dwelling place for brains.
She lowered her lashes until they almost cuddled her cheeks and slowly raised them again, like a theatre curtain. I was to get to know that trick. That was supposed to make me roll over on my back with all four paws in the air.
If my books had been any worse, I should not have been invited to Hollywood, and if they had been any better, I should not have come.
When in doubt, have two guys come through the door with guns.
Alcohol is like love. The first kiss is magic, the second is intimate, the third is routine. After that you take the girl's clothes off.
The English may not always be the best writers in the world, but they are incomparably the best dull writers.
She jerked away from me like a startled fawn might, if I had a startled fawn and it jerked away from me.
That's one thing I like about Hollywood. The writer is there revealed in his ultimate corruption. He asks no praise, because his praise comes to him in the form of a salary check. In Hollywood the average writer is not young, not honest, not brave, and a bit overdressed. But he is darn good company, which book writers as a rule are not. He is better than what he writes. Most book writers are not as good.
Would you convey my compliments to the purist who reads your proofs and tell him or her that I write in a sort of broken-down patois which is something like the way a Swiss waiter talks, and that when I split an infinitive, God damn it, I split it so it will stay split, and when I interrupt the velvety smoothness of my more or less literate syntax with a few sudden words of bar-room vernacular, that is done with the eyes wide open and the mind relaxed but attentive.
The overall picture, as the boys say, is of a degraded community whose idealism even is largely fake. The pretentiousness, the bogus enthusiasm, the constant drinking, the incessant squabbling over money, the all-pervasive agent, the strutting of the big shots (and their usually utter incompetence to achieve anything they start out to do), the constant fear of losing all this fairy gold and being the nothing they have never ceased to be, the snide tricks, the whole damn mess is out of this world.
I certainly admire people who do things.
Some are able and humane men and some are low-grade individuals with the morals of a goat, the artistic integrity of a slot machine, and the manners of a floorwalker with delusions of grandeur.
More Raymond Chandler Quotations (Based on Topics)
Man - World - Business & Commerce - Writing - Thought & Thinking - Mind - Life - Movies - Art - Manner - Perfection - Law & Regulation - Sense & Perception - Performance Arts - English - Sleep - Advertising - Television - Money & Wealth - View All Raymond Chandler Quotations
More Raymond Chandler Quotations (By Book Titles)
- The Big Sleep
Thomas Paine - Milan Kundera - Karen Armstrong - John Grisham - Herbert Kaufman - Henry Lawson - Henry Drummond - Denis Waitley - Arthur C. Clarke - Agatha Christie