Raymond Chandler Quotes About Big Sleep
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Under the thinning fog the surf curled and creamed, almost without sound, like a thought trying to form inself on the edge of consciousness.
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Tall, aren't you?" she said. "I didn't mean to be." Her eyes rounded. She was puzzled. She was thinking. I could see, even on that short acquaintance, that thinking was always going to be a bother to her.
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A nice state of affairs when a man has to indulge his vices by proxy.
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You can have a hangover from other things than alcohol. I had one from women.
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It seemed like a nice neighborhood to have bad habits in.
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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.
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He sounded like a man who had slept well and didn't owe too much money.
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The plants filled the place, a forest of them, with nasty meaty leaves and stalks like the newly washed fingers of dead men.
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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.
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Neither of the two people in the room paid any attention to the way I came in, although only one of them was dead.
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Shake your business up and pour it. I haven't got all day.
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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.
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I was neat, clean, shaved and sober and I didn't care who knew it.
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As honest as you could expect a man to be in a world where it's out of style.
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I sat down on the edge of a deep soft chair and looked at Mrs Regan. She was worth a stare. She was trouble.
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Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.
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I don’t mind if you don’t like my manners. They’re pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter evenings.
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I don't mind your showing me your legs. They're very swell legs and it's a pleasure to make their acquaintance. I don't mind if you don't like my manners. They're pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter evenings. But don't waste your time trying to cross-examine me.
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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.
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