Raymond Chandler Quotes

“I don’t mind if you don’t like my manners. They’re pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter evenings.”
― Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep

“There's always something to do if you don't have to work or consider the cost. It's no real fun but the rich don't know that. They never had any. They never want anything very hard except maybe somebody else's wife and that's a pretty pale desire compared with the way a plumber's wife wants new curtains for the living room.”
― Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye

“Television's perfect. You turn a few knobs, a few of those mechanical adjustments at which the higher apes are so proficient, and lean back and drain your mind of all thought. And there you are watching the bubbles in the primeval ooze. You don't have to concentrate. You don't have to react. You don't have to remember. You don't miss your brain because you don't need it. Your heart and liver and lungs continue to function normally. Apart from that, all is peace and quiet. You are in the man's nirvana. And if some poor nasty minded person comes along and says you look like a fly on a can of garbage, pay him no mind. He probably hasn't got the price of a television set.”
― Raymond Chandler

“Even on Central Avenue, not the quietest dressed street in the world, he looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food.”
― Raymond Chandler, Farewell, My Lovely

“I said: "Dead end - quiet, restful, like your town. I like a town like this." Marlowe (talking about Olympia) in a short story called Goldfish.”
― Raymond Chandler, Collected Stories

“I feel sorry for novelists when they have to mention women's eyes: there's so little choice, and whatever colouring is decided upon inevitably carries banal implications. Her eyes are blue: innocence and honesty. Her eyes are black: passion and depth. Her eyes are green: wildness and jealousy. Her eyes are violet: the novel is by Raymond Chandler.”
― Julian Barnes, Flaubert's Parrot

“I don't greatly care for passes this early in the morning.”
― Raymond Chandler

“He began as a minor imitator of Fitzgerald, wrote a novel in the late twenties which won a prize, became dissatisfied with his work, stopped writing for a period of years. When he came back it was to BLACK MASK and the other detective magazines with a curious and terrible fiction which had never been seen before in the genre markets; Hart Crane and certainly Hemingway were writing of people on the edge of their emotions and their possibility but the genre mystery markets were filled with characters whose pain was circumstantial, whose resolution was through action; Woolrich's gallery was of those so damaged that their lives could only be seen as vast anticlimax to central and terrible events which had occurred long before the incidents of the story. Hammett and his great disciple, Chandler, had verged toward this more than a little, there is no minimizing the depth of their contribution to the mystery and to literature but Hammett and Chandler were still working within the devices of their category: detectives confronted problems and solved (or more commonly failed to solve) them, evil was generalized but had at least specific manifestations: Woolrich went far out on the edge. His characters killed, were killed, witnessed murder, attempted to solve it but the events were peripheral to the central circumstances. What I am trying to say, perhaps, is that Hammett and Chandler wrote of death but the novels and short stories of Woolrich *were* death. In all of its delicacy and grace, its fragile beauty as well as its finality.

Most of his plots made no objective sense. Woolrich was writing at the cutting edge of his time. Twenty years later his vision would attract a Truffaut whose own influences had been the philosophy of Sartre, the French nouvelle vague, the central conception that nothing really mattered. At all. But the suffering. Ah, that mattered; that mattered quite a bit.”
― Barry N. Malzberg, The Fantastic Stories of Cornell Woolrich

“The trouble with cops is not that they're dumb or crooked or tough, but that they think just being a cop gives them a little something that they didn't have before. Maybe it did once, but not anymore. They're topped by too many smart minds.”
― Raymond Chandler, Farewell, My Lovely

“Big production, no story, as they say around the movie lots. I guess Sylvia is happy enough, though not necessarily with me. In our circle that's not too important. There's always something to do if you don't have to work or consider the cost. It's no real fun, but the rich don't know that. They never had any. They never want anything very hard except maybe somebody else's wife and that's a pretty pale desire compared to the way a plumber's wife wants new curtains for the living room.”
― Raymond Chandler "The Long Goodbye"

“The charged atmosphere made every little thing stand out as a performance, a movement distinct and vastly important. It was one of those hypersensitive moments when all your automatic movements, however long established, however habitual, become separate acts of will. You are like a man learning to walk after polio. You take nothing for granted, absolutely nothing at all.”
― Raymond Chandler "The Long Goodbye"

“But sometimes when you are getting nowhere, you have to give the wasps' nest a wallop”
― Benjamin Black

“I learned a great deal from [Raymond] Chandler - any writer can - but there had always been basic differences between us. One was in our attitude to plot. Chandler described a good plot as one that made for good scenes, as if the parts were greater than the whole. I see plot as a vehicle of meaning. It should be as complex as contemporary life, but balanced enough to say true things about it. The surprise with which a detective novel concludes should set up tragic vibrations which run backward through the entire structure. Which means that the structure must be single, and intended.”
― Ross Macdonald

“On occasion I read Raymond Chandler although I have certain reservations about this author. Chandler, while obviously a master of his craft, makes overuse of simile, to my annoyance.”
― Jack Vance, This Is Me, Jack Vance!: Or, More Properly, This Is "I"

“Clammy hands and the people who own them make me sick.”
― Raymond Chandler

“Breeze looked at me very steadily. Then he sighed. Then he picked the glass up and tasted it and sighed again shook his head sideways with a half smile; the way a man does when you give him a drink and he needs it very badly and it is just right and the first swallow is like a peek into a cleaner, sunnier, brighter world.”
― Raymond Chandler, The Lady in the Lake

“Sono romantico, Bernie. Odo voci gridare nella notte e vado a vedere che cosa succede. In questo modo non si guadagna un centesimo. Voi invece avete buon senso; chiudete le finestre e aumentate il volume del televisore. Oppure, se state guidando, premete l'acceleratore e vi allontanate il più rapidamente possibile. State alla larga dai guai altrui. Il meglio che possa capitare è uno smacco. L'ultima volta che vidi Terry Lennox bevemmo insieme una tazza di caffè che preparai io stesso in questa casa e fumammo una sigaretta. E così, quando seppi che era morto, andai in cucina, e preparai il caffè e riempii una tazza per lui e accesi per lui una sigaretta, e quando il caffè si fu raffreddato e la sigaretta fu consumata, gli augurai la buonanotte. In questo modo non si guadagna un centesimo. Voi non lo fareste. Ecco perché siete un abile poliziotto e io sono un investigatore privato.”
― Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye

“Sono un egocentrico farabutto, una prostituta letteraria o un manutengolo delle lettere, scegliete voi la definizione che più vi piace, sono marcio dalla punta dei piedi alla cima dei capelli. E dunque cosa potete fare per me?"
"Che cosa dovrei fare?"
"Perché non andate in bestia?"
"Non ho alcun motivo di andare in bestia. Sto solo ascoltandovi mentre odiate voi stesso. È noioso, ma non ferisce la mia suscettibilità.”
― Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye