Quotes from James M. Cain

I mobili erano spagnoli, del genere bellini a vedersi e scomodi a sedersi.

It makes it even, but look at us now. We were up on a mountain. We were up so high, Frank. We had it all, out there, that night. I didn't know I could feel anything like that. And we kissed and sealed it so it would be there forever, no matter what happened. We had more than any two people in the world. And then we fell down. First you, and then me. Yes, it makes it even. We're down here together. But we're not up high any more. Our beautiful mountain is gone.

They've committed a *murder*! And it's not like taking a trolley ride together where they can get off at different stops. They're stuck with each other and they got to ride all the way to the end of the line and it's a one-way trip and the last stop is the cemetery.

Stealing a man's wife, that's nothing, but stealing his car, that's larceny.

That's O.K. I trust your superior knowledge of motels.

I ripped her. I shoved my hand in her blouse and jerked. She was wide open from her throat to her belly. "You got that climbing out. You caught it in the door handle." My voice sounded queer, like it was coming out of a tin phonograph. "And this you don't know how you got." I hauled off and hit her in the eye as hard as I could.

Yes, it was rape, but only technical, brother, only technical. Above the waist, maybe she was worried about the sacrilegio, but from the waist down she wanted me, bad. There couldn't be any doubt about that.

She left, feeling sullen over her wasted afternoon and wasted bus fare. It was her first experience with the sexological advertiser, though she was to find out he was fairly common. Usually he was some phony calling himself a writer, an agent, or a talent scout, who had found out that for a dollar and a half's worth of newspaper space he could have a daylong procession of girls at his door, all desperate for work, all willing to do almost anything to get it.

En realidad, lo único que quise en este mundo fue a ella. Pero eso es bastante. No creo que muchas mujeres consigan ni siquiera eso.

We're the friendliest enemies that ever were.

Don't you know? After she's been Mr. Hannen's candy kid? The one that was going to New York and play the pyanner so they'd all be hollering for her? You think she's going to see them people now, and just be Veda? Not her. She's the queen, or she don't play. She ain't giving no party, and you ain't either." "I've simply got to do something." "Can't you leave her alone?

Veda stalked out, and Mildred grimly arranged the tray, wondering why Veda could put her so easily on the defensive, and hurt her so.

She may have found a little more than peace. There was something unnatural, a little unhealthy, about the way she inhaled Veda's smell as she dedicated the rest of her life to this child who had been spared, as she resolved that the restaurant must open today, as advertised, and that it must not fail.

on a plane I like to be left to myself, as the clouds and the sky and drone of the motor all make me feel dreamy, and dreams are a solo enterprise.

It was a long time before Mildred could bring herself to send Veda to bed. She wanted to keep her there, to warm herself in this sunny, carefree friendliness that had never been there before. When the time finally came, she took Veda in herself, and helped her undress, and put her in bed, and held her tight for a moment, still ecstatic at the miracle that had come to pass.

But I'll need a lot of them. Jungle pumas. Not these outlaws you see in the zoos. What's an outlaw? He'd kill you. Wouldn't they all? They might, but an outlaw does anyhow. If it was people, he would be a crazy person. It comes from being bred in captivity.

Are you insinuating that my daughter is a snake?" "No—is a coloratura soprano, is much worse. A little snake, love mamma, do what papa tells, maybe, but a coloratura soprano, love nobody but own goddam self. Is son-bitch-bast', worse than all a snake in a world. Madame, you leave dees girl alone.

Mildred, who had listened to this eulogy as one might listen to soul-nourishing organ music, came to herself with a start, and murmured: "She's a wonderful girl." "No—is a wonderful singer.

Her hair, which was a coppery red, and her eyes, which were light blue like her mother's, were all the more vivid by contrast with the scramble of freckles and sunburn which formed her complexion.

You must be a hell cat, though. You couldn't make me feel like this if you weren't." "That's what we're going to do. Kiss me, Frank. On the mouth." I kissed her. Her eyes were shining up at me like two blue stars. It was like being in church.

They spoke quickly, as though they were saying things that scalded their mouths, and had to be cooled with spit.

She started to talk. She had little to say about love, fidelity, or morals. She talked about money, and his failure to find work; and when she mentioned the lady of his choice, it was not as a siren who had stolen his love, but as the cause of the shiftlessness that had lately come over him.

Indeed, the whole scene had an ancient, almost classical ugliness to it, for they uttered the same recriminations that have been uttered since the beginning of marriage, and added little of originality to them, and nothing of beauty.

Didn't you got back? I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.