In the Navy - Curiosity About Bugs in Changing Seasons
Thomas Halstead:
By the way, where do all the little bugs go this time of year?
Pomeroy Watson:
Search me.
Thomas Halstead:
No thanks, I just wondered.
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Murder, My Sweet - A Threat of Violence and Its Response
Lindsay Marriott:
How would you like a swift punch on the nose?
Philip Marlowe:
I tremble at the thought of such violence.
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Murder, My Sweet - The Nature of Unspoken Remarks
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.
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Murder, My Sweet - A Conversation on Unpleasant Tales
Helen Grayle:
It's a long story and not pretty.
Philip Marlowe:
I got lots of time and I'm not squeamish.
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Murder, My Sweet - Detective Work and Its Unexpected Appeal
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.
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Murder, My Sweet - Attraction and Mutual Interest
Helen Grayle:
I find men very attractive.
Philip Marlowe:
I imagine they meet you halfway.
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Murder, My Sweet - Confusion About Loyalties and Intentions
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.
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Murder, My Sweet - Manner Disputes Between Two Characters
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.
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Murder, My Sweet - Feeling Out of Place in Danger
Lt. Randall: [during an interrogation]
How do you feel?
Philip Marlowe:
Like a duck in a shooting gallery.
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Murder, My Sweet - Late Night Office Reflections
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.
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Murder, My Sweet - Questioning the Nature of the Conversation
Philip Marlowe:
I don't know what you talked him into. Was it murder or something serious?
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Murder, My Sweet - Preference for Scotch over Water
Philip Marlowe:
Skip the water. Make that one with scotch. It'll save time.
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Murder, My Sweet - Indications of an Amateur Killing
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.
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Murder, My Sweet - The Complexity of Inaction and Motivation
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.
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Murder, My Sweet - A Nonchalant Take on His Weapon
Philip Marlowe: [about his gun]
That's just part of my clothes. I hardly ever shoot anybody with it.
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Murder, My Sweet - Facing Challenges with Humor and Grit
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.
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Murder, My Sweet - A Dive into Darkness and Uncertainty
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. I felt pretty good - like an amputated leg.
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Murder, My Sweet - A Gritty Description of a Complex Character
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.
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