Philip Marlowe: I don’t mind if you don’t like my manners. I don’t like them myself. They’re pretty bad. I grieve over them on long winter evenings.
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Marlowe: You know what he’ll do when he comes back? Beat my teeth out, then kick me in the stomach for mumbling.
Philip Marlowe: What’s wrong with you?
Vivian: Nothing you can’t fix.
Norris: How do you like your brandy, sir?
Philip Marlowe: In a glass.
Philip Marlowe: My, my, my. Such a lot of guns around town and so few brains!
Vivian: Why did you have to go on?
Marlowe: Too many people told me to stop.