Miðvikudagur, 23. júní 2004
Djöfull er Raymond Chandler ógeðslega góður rithöfundur. Töffið lekur næstum af hverri einustu málsgrein. Ákvað að lesa The Long Goodbye með gulan áherslutúss við hendina en græddi lítið á því, síðurnar eru meira og minna allar orðnar gular. Verð að fjölga litum þar sem sumt er ómissandi í greiningu af einhverju tagi; alkóhólismi í verkum Chandlers eða eitthvað í þá áttina. Það gæti verið bleikt og svo verður allt kúlið áfram gult.
Sýnishorn?
She meant drunks without money. With money they are just heavy drinkers. If they vomit in the lanai, that´s for the butler to handle.
Alcohol is like love. The first kiss is magic, the second is intimate, the third is routine. After that you take the girl´s clothes off.
You gara love this one, Marlowe að tækla blaðamann: "Newspapers are owned and puplished by rich men. Rich men all belong to the same club. Sure, there´s competition-hard, tough competition for circulation, for newspapers, for exclusive stories. Just so long as it doesn´t damage the prestige and privilege and position of the owners. If it does, down comes the lid."
I´ve got lots of time to be alone. Too damn much.
A dead man is the best fall guy in the world. He never talks back.
His surprise was as thin as the gold on a week-end wedding ring. (Tótallý brilljant)
A white night for me is as rare as a fat postman.
There is no trap so deadly as the trap you set for yourself.
I replaced the phone, thinking that an hones cop with a bad conscience always acts tough. So does a dishonest cop. So does almost anyone, including me.
I´d say he knew most of what there is to know about women by that time. I say most, because nobody ever knows all of it.
There are one hundred and ninety ways of being a bastard and Carne knew all of them.
Þessi 862 síðna sex skáldsagnabók skrifuð af fyllibyttu er meiri viskubrunnur en Biflían.
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