Dick Tracy Quotes

Being a dick is when you're so self-centered, you think your ideas are pretty much the only worthy ones, and you secretly believe other people are inferior to you. [...] You'd rather believe other people just can't handle how awesome you are. And you're right. All that awesomeness sucks, actually.

Drawing a good figure doesn’t make you a good artist. I can name you ten men, right off the bat, who draw better than I do. But I don’t think their work gets as much response as mine. I can’t think of a better man to draw Dick Tracy than Chester Gould, who certainly is no match for Leonardo Da Vinci. But Chester Gould told the story of Dick Tracy. He told the story of Dick Tracy the way it should have been told. No other guy could have done it. It’s not in the draftsmanship, it’s in the man. Like I say, a tool is dead. A brush is a dead object. It’s in the man. If you want to do, you do it. If you think a man draws the type of hands that you want to draw, steal ‘em. Take those hands. The only thing I can say is: Caniff was my teacher, Alex Raymond was my teacher, even the guy who drew Toonerville Trolley was my teacher. Whatever he had stimulated me in some way. And I think that’s all you need. You need that stimulation. Stimulation to make you an individual. And the draftsmanship, hang it. If you can decently: learn to control what you can, learn to control what you have, learn to refine what you have. Damn perfection. You don’t have to be perfect. You are never going to do a Sistine Chapel, unless someone ties you to a ceiling. Damn perfection. All a man has in this field is pressure. And I think the pressure supplies a stimulation. You have your own stresses, that will supply your own stimulation. If you want to do it, you’ll do it. And you’ll do it anyway you can.

Mick..drew the big black letters very slowly. At the top she wrote EDISON, and under that she drew the names of DICK TRACY and MUSSOLINI. Then in each corner with the largest letters of all and outlined in red, she wrote her initials - M.K. When that was done she crossed over to the opposite wall and wrote a very bad word - PUSSY, and beneath that she put her initials too.

You remember the comics in the Daily News? Dick Tracy’s wrist radio? it’ll be everywhere, the rubes’ll all be begging to wear one, handcuffs of the future. Terrific. What they dream about at the Pentagon, worldwide martial law.

Call it freedom, it’s based on control. Everybody connected together, impossible anybody should ever get lost, ever again. Take the next step, connect it to these cell phones, you’ve got a total Web of surveillance, inescapable. You remember the comics in the Daily News? Dick Tracy’s wrist radio? It’ll be everywhere, the rubes’ll all be begging to wear one, handcuffs of the future. Terrific. What they dream about at the Pentagon, worldwide martial law.

Oh. My. If it isn't the Christian Grey of Pilates!

[On playing another character that was not Dr. Bob Hartley]: I think you're lucky when you realize what you are. Spencer Tracy always played Spencer Tracy. I'm not putting myself into that category, but, to the same extent, the part of me that was Bob Hartley is in my new character, Dick Loudin. If you make fine bone china and you're recognized as the best in the world, you don't suddenly announce you're going to make automobiles. We see it so much in this business. We're so self-destructive. If you really do something well, you should stick to it.

In one dream, I went to a party on a cruise ship and watched a lone dolphin circling in the distance. But in the dream journal, I reported that I was actually on the Titanic and the dolphin was a shark that was also Moby Dick and also Dick Tracy and also a hard, inflamed penis, and the penis was giving a speech to a crowd of women and children and waving his gun around.

and, of course, the self-accursation, the faint heart, the frequent uncertainty and loss of time, which are the nettles and tangling vines in the way of the self-relying and self-directed; and the state of virtual hostility in which he seems to stand to society. For all this loss and scorn, what offset? He is to find consolation in exercising the highest functions of human nature. He is one who raises himself from private considerations and breathes and lives on public and illustrious thoughts. He is the world's eye.

MY HUSBAND HAD A TALENT for putting the dick in unpredictable, so I wasn’t entirely surprised to catch him at an office party with his hand up the skirt of a giggly, jiggly redhead.

Titled by year, Good News of 1939, 1940 became Maxwell House Coffee Time to begin the 1940–41 season, though the Good News title was still used for a few broadcasts. Maxwell House Coffee. CAST: Hosts: James Stewart, 1937; Robert Taylor, early to mid-1938; Robert Young, beginning in fall 1938; various hosts, 1939–40; Dick Powell, ca. 1940. Frank Morgan, resident comic. Fanny Brice as Baby Snooks beginning Dec. 23, 1937. Hanley Stafford as Daddy. Also many MGM film stars including Judy Garland, Joan Crawford, Mickey Rooney, Alice Faye, Spencer Tracy, Lionel Barrymore, Clark Gable,

He suggested that all lieutenants, captains, and inspectors be fit to walk ten miles a day on three consecutive days, or in some cases that they ride thirty miles a day for the same period. Fourteen years later, as Mayor La Guardia went on the radio to read "Dick Tracy" to "the kiddies" during a newspaper strike, he offered an aside to Police Commissioner Lewis Valentine, wondering why Dick Tracy was slim and trim and so many New York police detectives were fat.

So, while the Hudson-Grace brain trust tries to figure out leverage against the queen—which something tells me the Bloodletter here is going to know how to get, since it was her evil sister who started this whole mess—we need you to stop dicking us around and give my bestie here a straight answer about how to travel between realms safely. So, do you think you can do that, or are we going to have a problem?

--- A tactical orgasm. That's what he needed. Then he'd stop fantasizing about all those lacy bras she'd left back in his bathroom. She really needed to dry those someplace else. It had taken him fifteen minutes to take a leak this morning because the damn things were hanging up right where he - and his dick - could see them. It twitched in his slacks. His dick had a great memory.

Dick Tracy is a hayseed nightmare, a petrified hick’s vision of big city America. While Tracy and his gal Tess Trueheart are drawn taut and chalk white, the crooks are fat, greasy, beady-eyed, and beastly. Gould’s city is full of physical mutants who look funny, who talk funny, have funny names — like Flattop, B.O. Plenty, The Brow, and the Blank. It’s the kind of thing you see when Pat Robertson’s 700 Club does an investigative report on raves or porn, hysteria boiled down to four panels a day and ten on Sunday. As street hoods turned into executive syndicates, “Dick Tracy” turned to 50s-60s sci-fi two-way wrist radios, moon girls, and Gould lecturing interviewers on how stupid NASA was with its clunky jet propulsion systems. If the aliens weren’t on the city streets, Gould sent Tracy into space to find more.

Tuffy is meticulous. She’s built more like Dick Butkus than Dick Tracy,

farther than driving distance away. “Hello, I’m looking to buy a copy of Hellcat Ace.” “Hmm, I don’t think we carry that one—” “What?” he would fume. “What kind of computer store are you? Didn’t you see the review in Antic?” Then he would hang up in a huff, muttering about taking his business elsewhere. A week later he would call again, pretending to be somebody else. And a third time a week after that. He didn’t even have to call from different numbers, since caller ID was still as imaginary as Dick Tracy’s Apple Watch. Finally, on the fourth week, he’d use his professional voice. “Good afternoon, I’m a representative from MicroProse Software, and I’d like to show you our latest game, Hellcat Ace.” Spurred by the imaginary demand, they would invite him in. It seems utterly transparent in today’s marketing-savvy world, but in the era of mom-and-pop computer stores, it worked. Bill may very well have placed a call to every single outlet in the nation at that time, charming them with his energy and enthusiasm.

The boys of my past no longer exist. I have no memory of any dick other than the one that brings me pleasure multiple times a day.

What’s vaginal atrophy?” he asked, interrupting. “A shrinking fanny, Joe!” I replied.

On Feb. 5, 1945, an all-star cast spoofed America’s most popular comic strip in an hour-long play, Dick Tracy in B-Flat; or, For Goodness Sake, Isn’t He Ever Going to Marry Tess Trueheart? The stars were Bing Crosby as Dick Tracy; Dinah Shore as Tess Trueheart; Harry Von Zell as Old Judge Hooper; Jerry Colonna as the Chief of Police; Bob Hope as Flat Top; Frank Morgan as Vitamin Flintheart; Jimmy Durante as the Mole; Judy Garland as Snowflake; the Andrews Sisters as the Summer Sisters; Frank Sinatra as Shaky; and Cass Daley as Gravel Gertie.

dick in unpredictable,

The word criminal is more an emotional than legal term. Go to any U.S. post office and view the faces on the wanted posters. Like Dick Tracy caricatures, they stare out of the black-and-white photographs often taken in late-night booking rooms—unshaved, pig snouted, rodent eyed, hare lipped, reassuring us that human evil is always recognizable and that consequently we will never be its victim. But