Murder, My Sweet

Philip Marlowe:
"'Okay Marlowe,' I said to myself. 'You're a tough guy. You've been sapped twice, choked, beaten silly with a gun, shot in the arm until you're crazy as a couple of waltzing mice. Now let's see you do something really tough - like putting your pants on.'"

Philip Marlowe:
"I caught the blackjack right behind my ear. A black pool opened up at my feet. I dived in. It had no bottom."

Philip Marlowe:
My throat felt sore, but the fingers feeling it didn't feel anything. They were just a bunch of bananas that looked like fingers.

Philip Marlowe:
She was a charming middle-aged lady with a face like a bucket of mud. I gave her a drink. She was a gal who'd take a drink, if she had to knock you down to get the bottle.

Philip Marlowe:
It was a nice little front yard. Cozy, okay for the average family. Only you'd need a compass to go to the mailbox. The house was alright, too, but it wasn't as big as Buckingham Palace.

Lt. Randall:
You're not a detective, you're a slot machine. You'd slit your own throat for 6 bits plus tax!

Philip Marlowe:
Now this is beginning to make sense, in a screwy sort of a way. I get dragged in and get money shoved at me. I get pushed out and get money shoved at me. Everybody pushes me in, everybody pushes me out. Nobody wants me to DO anything! Okay, put a check in the mail. I cost a lot not to do anything. I get restless. Throw in a trip to Mexico.

Helen Grayle:
You shouldn't kiss a girl when you're wearing that gun... leaves a bruise!

Lt. Randall:
What are you doing back here?

Philip Marlowe:
I'm a homing pigeon. I come back to this stinking coop, no matter how late it is.

Philip Marlowe:
What were you saying?

Dr. Sonderborg:
I made no remark.

Philip Marlowe:
Remarks want you to make them. They got their tongues hanging out waiting to be said.

Lt. Randall:
Let's get it on the record... from the beginning.

Philip Marlowe:
With Malloy, then. Oh, it was about seven o'clock. Anyway it was dark.

Lt. Randall:
What were you doing at the office that late?

Philip Marlowe:
I'm a homing pigeon. I always come back to the stinking coop, no matter how late it is. I'd been out peeking under old Sunday sections for a barber named Dominick whose wife wanted him back - I forget why. Only reason I took the job was because my bank account was trying to crawl under a duck.

Lt. Randall:
[during an interrogation] How do you feel?

Philip Marlowe:
Like a duck in a shooting gallery.

Lindsay Marriott:
I'm afraid I don't like your manner.

Philip Marlowe:
Yeah, I've had complaints about it, but it keeps getting worse.

Ann Grayle:
You know, I think you're nuts. You go barging around without a very clear idea of what you're doing. Everybody bats you down, smacks you over the head, fills you full of stuff... and you keep right on hitting between tackle and end. I don't think you even know which SIDE you're on.

Philip Marlowe:
I don't know which side anybody's on. I don't even know who's playing today.

Helen Grayle:
I find men very attractive.

Philip Marlowe:
I imagine they meet you halfway.

Helen Grayle:
I hadn't supposed there were enough murders these days to make detecting very attractive to a young man.

Philip Marlowe:
I stir up trouble on the side.

Helen Grayle:
It's a long story and not pretty.

Philip Marlowe:
I got lots of time and I'm not squeamish.

Lindsay Marriott:
How would you like a swift punch on the nose?

Philip Marlowe:
I tremble at the thought of such violence.

Ann Grayle:
[Philip Marlowe] Sometimes I hate men. ALL men. Old men, young men... beautiful young men who use rosewater and... almost heels who are private detectives.

Helen Grayle:
[hidden in the shadows, laughs - then she comes out] Oh, I'm sorry, darling, I couldn't help laughing; but you should know by now that men play rough. They soften you up, throw you off guard, and then belt you one. [to Marlowe] That was a dirty trick, but maybe it'll teach you not to overplay a good hand. Now she doesn't like you. She hates men.

Ann Grayle:
That was only the first half of the speech. The rest of it goes like this: I hate their women, too - especially the "big league blondes". Beautiful, expensive babes who know what they've got... all bubble bath, and dewy morning, and moonlight. And inside: blue steel, cold - cold like that... only not that clean.

Philip Marlowe:
[about his gun] That's just part of my clothes. I hardly ever shoot anybody with it.

Philip Marlowe:
He was doubled up on his face in that bag-of-old-clothes position that always means the same thing: he had been killed by an amateur. Or, by somebody who wanted it to look like an amateur job. Nobody else would hit a man that many times with a sap.

Philip Marlowe:
Skip the water. Make that one with scotch. It'll save time.

Philip Marlowe:
I don't know what you talked him into. Was it murder or something serious?