In everything that can be called art there is a quality of redemption.

I guess God made Boston on a wet Sunday.

What greater prestige can a man like me (not too gifted, but very understanding) have than to have taken a cheap, shoddy and utterly lost kind of writing, and have made of it something that intellectuals claw each other about?

The modern film tries too hard to be real. Its techniques of illusion are so perfect that it requires no contribution from the audience but a mouthful of popcorn.

She was kind of girl who'd eat all your cashews and leave you with nothing but peanuts and filberts.

When I split an infinitive, God damn it, I split it so it stays split.

You can always tell a detective on TV. He never takes his hat off.