Raymond Chandler
Raymond Chandler
Raymond Thornton Chandlerwas a British-American novelist and screenwriter. In 1932, at the age of forty-four, Chandler became a detective fiction writer after losing his job as an oil company executive during the Great Depression. His first short story, "Blackmailers Don't Shoot", was published in 1933 in Black Mask, a popular pulp magazine. His first novel, The Big Sleep, was published in 1939. In addition to his short stories, Chandler published seven novels during his lifetime. All but Playback have been...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth23 July 1888
CityChicago, IL
CountryUnited States of America
There is no trap so deadly as the trap you set for yourself.
There is no bad whiskey. There are only some whiskeys that aren't as good as others.
The test of a writer is whether you want to read him again years after he should by the rules be dated.
Mostly I just kill time," he said, "and it dies hard.
The minute you try to talk business with him he takes the attitude that he is a gentleman and a scholar, and the moment you try to approach him on the level of his moral integrity he starts to talk business.
The moment a man sets his thoughts down on paper, however secretly, he is in a sense writing for publication.
I said something which gave you to think I hated cats. But gad, sir, I am one of the most fanatical cat lovers in the business. If you hate them, I may learn to hate you. If your allergies hate them, I will tolerate the situation to the best of my ability.
She lowered her lashes until they almost cuddled her cheeks and slowly raised them again, like a theatre curtain. I was to get to know that trick. That was supposed to make me roll over on my back with all four paws in the air.
He snorted and hit me in the solar plexus. I bent over and took hold of the room with both hands and spun it. When I had it nicely spinning I gave it a full swing and hit myself on the back of the head with the floor.
A good story cannot be devised; it has to be distilled.
The girl gave him a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of his back.
I hung up. It was a good start, but it didn’t go far enough. I ought to have locked the door and hidden under the desk.
Throw up into your typewriter every morning. Clean up every noon.
Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.