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“I had killed a man, for money and a woman. I didn't have the money and I didn't have the woman.”
― James M. Cain, Double Indemnity

“I loved her like a rabbit loves a rattlesnake”
― James M. Cain, Double Indemnity

“I never met an addict who came from a nice home . I've met addicts that came from families that had money and nice houses. But never from a nice home.”
― Sara Gran, Dope

“So. You're a fallen angel." She folded her arms.
"I'm not fallen," he said roughly.
"Then what are you?"
He shrugged. "Busted.”
― Vicki Pettersson, The Taken

“It's raining in Washington tonight. Plump, warm summer rain that covers the sidewalks with leopard spots. Downtown, elderly ladies carry their houseplants out to set them on the fire-escapes, as if they were infirm relatives or Boy Kings. I like that.”
― Alan Moore, Swamp Thing, Vol. 1: Saga of the Swamp Thing

“There is a house above the world, where the over-people gather. There is a man with wings like a bird.. there is a man who can sea across the planet and wring diamonds from its anthracite. There is a man who moves so fast that his life is an endless gallery of statues..In the house above the world the over-people gather..To a fry, mad voice that whispers of earthdeath.”
― Alan Moore

“She wore a loose bathrobe that covered up a body that would have won first prize in a beauty contest for cement blocks.....She had a voice that made pearl harbour sound like a lullaby.”
― Richard Brautigan, در رؤیای بابل

“I wouldn't presume to define noir - if we could define it, we wouldn't need to use a French word for it - but it seems to me it's more a way of looking at the world than what one sees.”
― Lawrence Block, Manhattan Noir

“...smoke twisting amongst the lights and turning the air a desolate blue, the colour of dead hopes and lost chances.”
― Terry Pratchett, Snuff

“I'm a detective, but nuns could stonewall Sam Spade into an asylum”
― Dennis Lehane, A Drink Before the War

“Pulling out onto the highway I noticed a stone pillar commemorating the Donner Party. They were a true testament to the American spirit, push forward at all costs and eat the dead when necessary. Wasn’t that the American dream in a nutshell.”
― Josh Stallings, Beautiful, Naked & Dead

“The white moth of hope fluttered before her face.”
― Cornell Woolrich

“The only thing he likes better than a nice juicy homicide is a sirloin steak smothered with onions.”
― Richard Brautigan, در رؤیای بابل

“You ever choke a man out with his own shirt?â€�
“What kind of question is that?�
“A yes or no one.”
― Todd Morr

“The echo of the first shot, like the first sip of whiskey, burning...”
― Richard K. Morgan, Broken Angels

“He looked as if he'd got a lot of pleasure out of going ten rounds with your grandmother and making sure she went the whole distance.”
― Richard Brautigan, در رؤیای بابل

“When a beautiful blonde asks, you don't say no.”
― V.T. Davy, Black Art

“This may not be art as art commonly goes; the lack of discipline, of control, would seem to rule it out of that category. And yet Woolrich's lack of control over emotions is a crucial element in his work, not only because it intensifies the fragility and momentariness of love but also because it tears away the comfortable belief, evident in some of the greatest works of the human imagination such as Oedipus Rex, that nobility in the face of nothingness is possible. And if Woolrich's work is not art as commonly understood, there is an art beyond art, whose form is not the novel or story but the scream; and of this art Woolrich is beyond doubt a master. ("Introduction")”
― Francis M. Nevins Jr.

“And then, with a shock like high-voltage coursing through me, the phone beside me started pealing thinly.

I just stood there and stared at it, blood draining from my face. A call to a tollbooth? It must, it must be a wrong number, somebody wanted the Information Booth or-! It must have been audible outside, with all I had the slide partly closed. One of the redcaps passing by turned, looked over, then started coming across toward where I was. To get rid of him I picked up the receiver, put it to my ear.

'You'd better come out now, time's up,' a flat, deadly voice said. 'They're calling your train, but you're not getting on that one - or any other.'

'Wh-where are talking from?'

'The next booth to yours,' the voice jeered. 'You forgot the glass inserts only reach halfway down.'

The connection broke and a man's looming figure was shadowing the glass in front of my eyes, before I could even get the receiver back on the hook. I dropped it full-length, tensed my right arm to pound it through his face as soon as I shoved the glass aside. He had a revolver-bore for a top vest-button, trained on me. Two more had shown up behind him, from which direction I hadn't noticed. It was very dark in the booth now, their collective silhouettes shut out all the daylight. The station and all its friendly bustle was blotted out, had receded into the far background, a thousand miles away for all the help it could give me. I slapped the glass wearily aside, came slowly out.

One of them flashed a badge - maybe Crow had loaned him his for the occasion. 'You're being arrested for putting slugs in that phone. It won't do any good to raise your voice and shriek for help, try to tell people different. But suit yourself.'

I knew that as well as he; heads turned to stare after us by the dozens as they started with me in their midst through the station's main-level. But not one in all that crowd would have dared interfere with what they mistook for a legitimate arrest in the line of duty. The one with the badge kept it conspicuously tilted in his upturned palm, at sight of which the frozen onlookers slowly parted, made way for us through their midst. I was being led to my doom in full view of scores of people. ("Graves For The Living")”
― Cornell Woolrich