The boy spoke two words, the first a short guttural verb, the second “you.

My way of learning is to heave a wild and unpredictable monkey-wrench into the machinery.

Nick: "Don't you think maybe a drink would help you to sleep?" Nora: "No, thanks." Nick: "Maybe it would if I took one.

Nora: "How do you feel?" Nick: "Terrible. I must've gone to bed sober.

Who shot him? I asked. The grey man scratched the back of his neck and said: Somebody with a gun.

I've been as bad an influence on American literature as anyone I can think of.

I couldn't be fonder of you if you were my own son. But, well, if you lose a son, its possible to get another. There's only one Maltese Falcon.