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“It was a cool day and very clear. You could see a long way-but not as far as Velma had gone.”
― Raymond Chandler, Farewell, My Lovely

“French said: 鈥淚t鈥檚 like this with us, baby. We鈥檙e coppers and everybody hates our guts. And as if we didn鈥檛 have enough trouble, we have to have you. As if we didn鈥檛 get pushed around enough by the guys in the corner offices, the City Hall gang, the day chief, the night chief, the Chamber of Commerce, His Honor the Mayor in his paneled office four times as big as the three lousy rooms the whole homicide staff has to work out of. As if we didn鈥檛 have to handle one hundred and fourteen homicides last year out of three rooms that don鈥檛 have enough chairs for the whole duty squad to sit down in at once. We spend our lives turning over dirty underwear and sniffing rotten teeth. We go up dark stairways to get a gun punk with a skinful of hop and sometimes we don鈥檛 get all the way up, and our wives wait dinner that night and all the other nights. We don鈥檛 come home any more. And nights we do come home, we come home so goddam tired we can鈥檛 eat or sleep or even read the lies the papers print about us. So we lie awake in the dark in a cheap house on a cheap street and listen to the drunks down the block having fun. And just about the time we drop off the phone rings and we get up and start all over again. Nothing we do is right, not ever. Not once. If we get a confession, we beat it out of the guy, they say, and some shyster calls us Gestapo in court and sneers at us when we muddle our grammar. If we make a mistake they put us back in uniform on Skid Row and we spend the nice cool summer evenings picking drunks out of the gutter and being yelled at by whores and taking knives away from greaseballs in zoot suits. But all that ain鈥檛 enough to make us entirely happy. We got to have you.鈥� He stopped and drew in his breath. His face glistened a little as if with sweat. He leaned forward from his hips. 鈥淲e got to have you,鈥� he repeated. 鈥淲e got to have sharpers with private licenses hiding information and dodging around corners and stirring up dust for us to breathe in. We got to have you suppressing evidence and framing set-ups that wouldn鈥檛 fool a sick baby. You wouldn鈥檛 mind me calling you a goddam cheap double-crossing keyhole peeper, would you, baby?鈥� 鈥淵ou want me to mind?鈥� I asked him. He straightened up. 鈥淚鈥檇 love it,鈥� he said. 鈥淚n spades redoubled.”
― Raymond Chandler, The Little Sister

“Most critical writing is drivel and half of it is dishonest. It is a short cut to oblivion, anyway. Thinking in terms of ideas destroys the power to think in terms of emotions and sensations.”
― Raymond Chandler

“Maybe that鈥檚 what we look for all our lives, the worst possible grief, to make us truly ourselves before we die.”
― Louis-Ferdinand C茅line, Journey to the End of the Night