Rick Blaine: We'll always have Paris. We didn't have Paris, we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night. Ilsa Lund: When I said I would never leave you. . . . Rick Blaine: And you never will. But I got a job to do too. Where I'm going you can't follow. What I've got to do, you can't be any part of. Ilsa, I'm no good at being noble but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that. Now, now . . . here's looking at you kid.

The only reason to make a million dollars in this business is to tell some fat producer to go to hell.

This guy (Marlon Brando) - he'll be doing Hamlet when the rest of us are selling potatoes.

It is at least worth arguing that there is a modicum of the creative novelist in all of us, and that this absorption with how men get out of difficulties, single-handedly and alone if possible, is the stuff of which we weave the warp and woof of our own better dramatic imaginings.

I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks while you loved me.

The only point in making money is, you can tell some big shot where to go.

Errol Flynn and I are the only ones left who do any good old hell raising.