Quotes from Mickey Spillane

A Commie. She was a jerky Red. She owned all the trimmings and she was still a Red. What the hell was she hoping for, a government order to share it all with the masses? Yeah. A joint like this would suddenly assume a new owner under a new regime. A fat little general, a ranking secret policeman, somebody. Sure, it's great to be a Commie . . . as long as you're top dog. Who the hell was supposed to be fooled by all the crap?

Pretty and beautiful are two different things. Only a few women are pretty, but even one who's not so hot to look at can be beautiful. A lot of guys make mistakes when they turn down a beautiful woman for one who's just pretty.

I was a ruthless bastard with a twisted mind who could look on death and find it pleasant. I could break an arm or smash in a face because it was easier that way than asking questions. I could out-fox the fox with a line of reasoning that laughed at the truth because I was the worst of the lot and never did deserve to live. That's what that damned judge thought anyway.

when he came in. I liked that guy.

God, but it was fun! It was the way I liked it. No arguing, no talking to the stupid peasants. I just walked into that room with a tommy gun and shot their guts out. They never thought that there were people like me in this country. They figured us all to be soft as horse manure and just as stupid.

He was staring at my face. His eyes couldn't leave my eyes and his flesh was already dying with the fear inside him. He tried to talk and made only harsh breathing sounds. He raised his hands as if I were something evil and he had to keep me away. I was evil. I was evil for the good. I was evil and he knew it. I was worse than they were, so much worse that they couldn't stand the comparison. I had one, good, efficient, enjoyable way of getting rid of cancerous Commies. I killed them.

He killed her and I made a mess of his head. Even the devil won't recognize him now.

I was a licensed investigator who knocked off somebody who needed knocking off bad and he couldn't get to me. So I was a murderer by definition and all the law could do was shake its finger.

All right, you conniving little punks, I'll play ball, but I'm going to make up a lot of rules you never heard of. You think I'm cornered and it'll be a soft touch. Well, you won't be playing with a guy who's a hero. You'll be up against a guy with a mind gone rotten and a lust for killing! That's the way I was and that's the way I like it!

They were going to die slower and harder than any son of a bitch had ever died before, and while they died I'd laugh my god-damn head off!

His mouth had already been hanging open, but it managed to hang open further as the tiny close-set peepers crowding his nose opened with the wide-eyed innocence of a newborn suffering its first gas pain.

A private snooper, eh?" He was going tough on me. I laid my fork down and looked at him. I can make pretty nasty faces when I have to. "Shorty, maybe just for the hell of it I'll take you apart. You may be a rough apple, but I can make your face look like it's been run through a grinder, and the more I think of the idea the more I like it.

had the social instinct of a woman—that of being dependent upon a man. You were afraid

I couldn't let her speak or I would never be able to keep my promise.)

He couldn't lose me now or ever. I was the guy with the cowl and scythe. I had a hundred and forty black horses under me and an hour-glass in my hand, laughing like crazy until the tears rolled down my cheeks.

Too many times naked women and death walked side by side.

After a quick shower and shave, I whipped up some scrambled eggs and shoveled them into me.

Todos los homicidas incurren en alguno. En especial los que matan a sangre fría, cerebralmente. Su crimen suele estar perfectamente planeado. Pero están solos para vigilar la perfecta ejecución de sus planes mientras que, de nuestro lado, hay muchos cerebros concentrados en la solución del mismo problema.

Hemingway hated me. I sold 200 million books, and he didn't. Of course most of mine sold for 25 cents, but still... you look at all this stuff with a grain of salt.

Stephen King. Now I'm not crazy about him, but he's a great a writer.

I'm a commercial writer, not an author. Margaret Mitchell was an author. She wrote one book.

My father was Catholic, my mother was Protestant, and because of that I got Christened in both churches, so I've got all these names... but my Dad always called me Mick.

Now I'm not an author, I'm a writer, that's all I am.

If the public likes you, you're good.