Noir Quotes

Before I knew you, I thought brave was not being afraid. You've taught me that bravery is being terrified and doing it anyway.

The noir hero is a knight in blood caked armor. He's dirty and he does his best to deny the fact that he's a hero the whole time.

Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.

I don’t like anything pointing at me, dollface, that includes an umbrella, a finger, or a gun, got it?

Life is a bucket of shit with a barbed wire handle.

Jamie’s eyes gleamed. “God forgive me, I want there to be a murderer after the Falconer family so we in the College feel less to blame.

Sometimes it's not the optimist you need, but another pessimist to walk beside you and know, absolutely know, that the sound in the dark is a monster, and it really is as bad as you think. Did that sound hopeless? It didn't feel hopeless. It felt reassuring. It felt - real.

He says it was tourists being careless, where I see a fiendishly clever murder attempt.” “Mr. McCarthy, you’d better explain.” “Patrick, please. You’ll be tempted to laugh. It was a banana skin.

  Mary fought a savage impulse to slam the door on the couple. But they were too interesting to ignore in the circumstances of the murder. She caught sight of Richard spitting out a mouthful of hair.

Life was better than he expected with his new Italian family inheritance, and it felt good to take a deep breath without fear of someone attacking him or his family.

George’s utterance of the nest and the trap belonged to a bigger mystery she did not yet understand. One day I will, she promised herself. She would stake her life that those last words from her son would be solved by her. They were steppingstones into… whatever the wind and the stars and the valiant trees held for her.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.

In Greek tragedy, they fall from great heights. In noir, they fall from the curb.

It's a noir world. Unfair things happen.

People aren’t always what you want them to be. Sometimes they disappoint you or let you down, but you have to give them a chance first. You can’t just meet someone and expect them to be everything you’re looking for and then be angry when they’re not every hope and aspiration you projected onto them. It’s foolish to believe that someone will be what you imagine them to be. And sometimes, when you give them a chance, they turn out to be better than you imagined. Different, but better.

I’ll tell the Chief and he’ll squash you like the little flea-ridden castrated cock you are.

Some people were born just so they could be buried.

Listen, you might as well learn now that life’s nothin’ but a dirt sandwich and save yourself a lot of time.

Unbelievable and true. Anna Solokov is neither a frightened girl nor a criminal spider in the center of a huge web of drugs and god knows. No, that dangerous young woman could easily do both at different times, and to different people. No doubt that is part of George’s attraction to her. She is victim. Yet when necessary, or when it suits her, she is victimizer. Does he imagine he is battling for her soul?

She’s a cop’s wife. She understands what her husband does for a living,” the priest said.

When those we care about are weakest, that’s when we must be strong for them.

I can smack a ball-bearing between your abusive fiancé’s eyes before his wingtips hit the sidewalk.

You can use all the hundred dollar words you want,” said Vic, “women like that are like TNT. You go after their man, they’d sooner kill you than look at you.

He was a guy who talked with commas, like a heavy novel. Over the phone anyway.

The rain fell like dead bullets.

Love, whether it's friendship or more, is like a cup. It fills up drop by drop, until one last drop and the cup is full. The liquid hangs there almost above the rim, hangs there on surface tension alone and you know that one more drop and it will spill over.

Sometimes it's not the light in a person you fall in love with, but the dark. Sometimes it's not the optimist you need, but another pessimist to walk beside you and know, absolutely know, that the sound in the dark is a monster, and it really is as bad as you think.

I had a funny feeling as I saw the house disappear, as though I had written a poem and it was very good and I had lost it and would never remember it again.

Sometimes it would be nice not to have to do my best. Sometimes it would just be nice not to have a crisis to deal with. - Anita Blake

It was a Sunday morning, a perfect day for fishing. I had asked several other guys, but knew they all had their own plans. To everyone else, it was just another day of fishing.

And he never asked you about it?” “No, he never asked. If he had, I’m still not sure I would have told him.” “Told him what?” “That is was his baby.

I had killed a man, for money and a woman. I didn't have the money and I didn't have the woman.

Je suis à toi. Je suis ton monstre dans le noir pour toujours.

You can never have too much coffee”, I said He turned and smiled at me. “You think so, but the rest of us get a little OD’ed on your level of caffeine.

I loved her like a rabbit loves a rattlesnake

You were dead, you were sleeping the big sleep, you were not bothered by things like that, oil and water were the same as wind and air to you. You just slept the big sleep, not caring about the nastiness of how you died or where you fell. Me, I was part of the nastiness now. Far more a part of it than Rusty Regan was.

Tu n’étais plus qu’un insecte prisonnier d’une araignée repue, qui te gardait en réserve pour un repas à venir. Elle t’avait capturé pour te savourer en toute quiétude, quand l’envie lui viendrait de goûter ton sang. Tu imaginais ses pattes velues, ses gros yeux globuleux, implacables, son ventre mou, gorgé de viande, vibrant, gélatineux, et ses crocs venimeux, sa bouche noire qui allait te sucer la vie.

If you leave me here," the guy on the floor said, "he'll kill me tomorrow morning." Parker looked at him. "So you've still got tonight," he said.

So why not a woman, too—if I was dating her?

He used his large shoulders and movements to impose his dominance over others as he strutted around but his facial expressions were a giveaway to people like Maeve who was born into a gritty group of native born fighting Irish. While many saw him as a man who worked his way up to power and influence and attained success that others fail to achieve, she saw him as a sham. He didn’t acquire loyalty by goodwill, but by corruption, fear, and loathing.

The face she made at me was probably meant for a smile. Whatever it was, it beat me. I was afraid she'd do it again, so I surrendered

The coffee shop smell was strong enough to build a garage on.

I can’t believe I was ever stupid enough to trust Noir. Come to the dark side. We have cookies. (Zeth)

A week feels like a year when you’re seventeen and in love. A twenty minute drive might as well be an ocean. But we were together again and the whole world was rejoicing, even the gravel crunched melodiously under our feet as we danced onward through the night.

What the hell, Jack? What the hell were you doing back there? Cool the hell off. You’re used to people staring. Get a grip, man. Too early to let things get to you.

Quand le monde sera réduit en un seul bois noir pour nos quatre yeux étonnés, - en une plage pour deux enfants fidèles, - en une maison musicale pour notre claire sympathie, - je vous trouverai.

I told you not to piss off Noir. One day you’re going to listen to me. (Asmodeus) Why start now? (Jaden) Ah, you’re right. Bled so much now, it doesn’t really matter, does it? (Asmodeus)

My friend and business partner, Gerald Peyton was 12 minutes late to the funeral. I’d reminded him it started at 2 p.m. “Yeah, yeah, Frank,” he said. “I’ll be there. Just be sure you make it.” Well, here I sat on my thumbs, and he was the no-show. He stopped at a bar and got sloshed, I thought.

In contrast, Anderson was trying hard not to show his brimful-teary eyes. He felt his face heating. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. At the same time, anger began to grow in the pit of his stomach.

It was a cool day and very clear. You could see a long way-but not as far as Velma had gone.

When you get a cat to catch the mice in your kitchen, you can't expect it to ignore the rats in the cellar.

I pity those born of the lighter side. They have no understanding of how seductive cruelty is. The music made out of screams and pleas for mercy. Mmmm. Nothing better. (Noir)

Where are we? (Jericho) Noir’s happy place. It’s where he brings the beings he wants to play with. (Asmodeus) Punish. (Jericho) You say ta-mah-to. I say to-mah-to. (Asmodeus)

People talk of sorrow as if it is soft, a thing of water and tears. But true sorrow is not soft. True sorrow is a thing of fire, and rock. It burns your heart, crushes your soul under the weight of mountains. It destroys, and even if you keep breathing, keep going, you die.

Next thing I remember was waking up on swampy ground and it was beginning to spit rain. I had no clue where I was, but I was hurting like hell. It was hard to take a breath; probably a broken rib or two? I felt around. My gun and knife were gone, along with my shoes and jacket with my cell phone, driver’s license, and two-thousand in cash.

By doing one wrong thing, I thought I could make everything right.

I envied women with signature hair-dos, signature perfumes, signature sign-offs. Novelists who tell Vogue Magazine: “I can’t live without my Smythson notebook, Pomegranate Noir cologne by Jo Malone and Frette sheets”. In the grip of madness, materialism begins to look like an admirable belief system.

Sometimes it's not the optimist you need, but another pessimist to walk beside you.

She looked playful and eager, but not quite sure of herself, like a new kitten in a house where they don't care much about kittens.

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.

When you meet an extraordinary person, it’s like they get inside you, under your ribs, and shuffle everything inside you around until they find space for greatness to grow. But extraordinary people always get away. And when they leave, they take that little part of you with them. Suddenly you find yourself with a gap in your chest that you don’t know how to live with. Suddenly you’re frightened of being yourself without them.

It was easy to make the obvious leap that the money was supposed to be my fee for whatever Lillian Holler wanted to expose. Sometimes my clients come with prepayment. I still questioned why she had picked me and how she had found me. But she was a wealthy woman and wealthy women have ways of finding out whatever it is they want to know.

Ever since I could remember, She was all that mattered.

She looked hot enough to catch fire, but too lazy to do anything but just lie there and smoke.

I knew what she was, and it made no difference at all. She was hard, as ruthless as she was beautiful, as brittle as bone china.

I was a small fish in a big sea of amorous deceit.

I don't make threats," she said. "I make reality.

Are you always this random? (Jericho) Mostly. It really irritates Noir. Which is just an added bonus for me. At least so long as I can outrun him. (Asmodeus) Add me to that list of people you annoy. (Jericho) Oh. You’re not going to singe my testicles over it, are you?! (Asmodeus) No plans to. (Jericho) Good. We can be friends, then. (Asmodeus)

A long walk. A very long walk. Sand between my toes. The rough surf at times reaching and washing away my footprints. About a mile down the beach, I sat down and started thinking back through everything Vance had told me so far. Thought about what my next moves would be. Seeing the Asian guy tomorrow and having him snoop would settle one thing in my mind. Did Vance do it or not? Crucial. Until I knew that, I didn’t want to go any further.

I so love the smell of hatred and revenge. It’s the headiest of concoctions. (Noir) I personally feel that way toward blood. No better smell in the universe than when it’s combined with the aroma of those fearing death. (Jericho)

A check girl in peach-bloom Chinese pajamas came over to take my hat and disapprove of my clothes. She had eyes like strange sins.

It probably started in poetry; almost everything does.

Somebody should have taken him to a stationary store and pointed out the difference between an envelope and a whore.

You’re lucky to have that face. But it doesn’t make you happy.

Je sais que je ne sais pas ce que je ne sais pas.

We are greater than our problems and stronger than our adversaries, but these are the times that try a man to determine his core truths, and his faith.

L'Heure Exquise La lune blanche Luit dans les bois ; De chaque branche Part une voix Sous la ramée... Ô bien-aimée. L’étang reflète, Profond miroir, La silhouette Du saule noir Où le vent pleure... Rêvons, c’est l’heure. Un vaste et tendre Apaisement Semble descendre Du firmament Que l’astre irise... C’est l’heure exquise.

I'd done it, I'd crossed the line between accepted behavior and behavior most of the population would consider a lynching offense, and that morning I felt as real as any of the men in the Escape commercials. It had been dirty and nasty but I wanted more.

I always find myself gravitating to the analogy of a maze. Think of film noir and if you picture the story as a maze, you don't want to be hanging above the maze watching the characters make the wrong choices because it's frustrating. You actually want to be in the maze with them, making the turns at their side, that keeps it more exciting...I quite like to be in that maze.

On n'est pas libre tant qu'on désire, qu'on veut, qu'on craint, peut-être tant qu'on vit.

Je ne suis pas plus moderne qu'ancien, pas plus Français que Chinois, et l'idée de la patrie c'est-à-dire l'obligation où l'on est de vivre sur un coin de terre marqué en rouge ou en bleu sur la carte et de détester les autres coins en vert ou en noir m'a paru toujours étroite, bornée et d'une stupidité féroce.

Cherchez la femme, Bucky. Remember that.

He said when the Lord made people He made them all the same for starters. But life marks people. If you know the way, you can read them like maps.

Bina, thank you. Bina, listen, this guy. His name wasn't Lasker. This guy-' She puts a hand to his mouth. She has not touched him in three years. It probably would be too much to say that he feels the darkness lift at the touch of her fingertips against his lips. But it shivers, and light bleeds in among the cracks.

It's hard to say goodbye for good at any time or any place. It's harder still to say it through a meshed wire. It crisscrossed his face into little diagonals, gave me only little broken-up molecules of it at a time. It stenciled a cold, rigid frame around every kiss.

I didn't feel evil. I felt nervous, scared, nothing more.

She was blond as hell, wearing a lot of black.

The finest thing in the world is knowing how to belong to oneself. Michel de Montaigne

This is just the way life is – sometimes cruel, sometimes beautiful, all the time confusing and frightening and exhilarating – and we just have to deal with it. That’s what freedom is.

Because noir isn’t really a new thing at all. It’s just a fairy tale with guns. Your hardscrabble detective is nothing more than a noble knight with a cigarette and a disease where his heart should be. He talks prettier, that’s all. He’s no less idealistic—there’re good women and bad women, good jobs and bad jobs. Justice and truth are always worth seeking. He pulls his fedora down like the visor on a suit of armour. He serves his lord faithfully whether he wants to or not. And he is in thrall to the idea of a woman. It’s just that in detective stories, women are usually dead before the curtain goes up. In fairy tales, they’re usually alive.

I didn’t know you were interested in politics,’ I said. ‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘But isn’t that how Hitler got elected in the first place: too many people who didn’t give a shit who was running the country?

On many nights I have availed myself of these very gentlemen, in the adjoining room. Each time, I wondered if you might arrive and see me, as I took my pleasure, allowing their hands to explore my body. There is no part of me that has not been kissed and enjoyed. I opened myself in welcome, encouraging my suitors to bury themselves deep and hard, to obliterate all reserve and find the heart of me.” Mademoiselle Noire - The Gentlemen's Club

As-tu déjà été amoureux? C'est horrible non? Ca rend si vulnérable. Ca t'ouvre la poitrine et le coeur en grand et du coup, n'importe qui peut venir te bousiller de l'intérieur. On se forge des défenses, on se fabrique une belle armure pour que rien ne puisse jamais nous atteindre, et voilà qu'un imbécile, pas bien différent des autres s'immisce dans notre imbécile de vie... On lui offre un morceau de soi alors que l'autre n'a rien demandé. Il a juste fait un truc débile un jour, genre t'embrasser ou te sourire, mais, depuis, ta vie ne t'appartient plus. L'amour te prend en otage. Il s'insinue en toi. Il te dévore de l'intérieur et te laisse tout seul à chialer dans le noir, au point qu'un simple phrase comme "je crois qu'on devrait rester amis" te fait l'effet d'un éclat de verre qu'on t'aurait planté dans le coeur. Ca fait mal. Pas juste dans ton imagination. Pas juste dans ta tête. C'est une douleur à fendre l'âme, qui s'incruste en toi et te déchire du dedans. Je hais l'amour.

How dull would it be to consume my meat with only one variety of sauce? My body and spirit would whither, being fed on such limited fare. To sample the delights of a great many women is considered right and healthy for a man, yet the opposite is held true for those of our sex. Where we display undue interest in sexual matters, even within marriage, we are thought immoral. For myself, I can only conceive of such limitation with horror: a torture for which I have no taste.” Mademoiselle Noire - The Gentlemen's Club

I ripped all her clothes off. She twisted and turned, slow, so they would slip out from under her. Then she closed her eyes and lay back on the pillow. Her hair was falling over her shoulders in snaky curls. Her eye was all black, and her breasts weren’t drawn up and pointing up at me, but soft, and spread out in two big pink splotches. She looked like the great grandmother of every whore in the world. The devil got his money’s worth that night.

G-Men been tryin’ to snag him for years. It ain’t gonna happen. He’s smart. He’s heartless. He’s ice cold. He’s been a killer since he was twelve. He’s survived much worse than you. And, by the way, don’t think he won’t take out a few Feds if he wants to. You’re just a bunch a shitkickers to him. Who’s gonna arrest him? Huh? Cause it won’t be anyone around here. You boys need to look elsewheres for your glory and medals. That badge you got don’t mean nothin’ on these streets.

I wanted to tell him then how loneliness can become a tangible thing, after a while. It’s something that you carry with you on your shoulder, hold up like a friend with a twisted ankle. It sits with you and walks the streets with you. It’s a selfish thing and it refuses to let go or even split its attention. Of course, like a particularly annoying itch, you can convince yourself for a while that it’s not there. You can go to libraries and sit with friends and drink more coffee than your body can handle and you can feel surrounded and happy. But eventually you have to scratch it. Loneliness steals you away from the world, as if you’ve been cut loose and you’re lost, untethered, somewhere far above everyone else. Just you and this feeling that you just need someone to put a hand on your shoulder and turn you around, to look at you and tell you the three words that matter most: You’re not alone. Don’t be scared. I am here. It’s not about love or lust or any other inadequate word; it’s about being touched and realising that you are no longer by yourself.

So why don't we have a go? There are two of us.' Little Mike realized that his friend was actually serious. 'Two of us? Father Hillary had God Almighty helping out, and look where it got him.' 'I know. But we're a team. For years, since primary. Batman and Robin.' 'Robin got killed,' said Mike. Christy was shocked. 'He did not, did he? Jesus, I didn't hear about that.' 'Yeah. It was a big shock. The Joker kilt him.' 'That fuckin' Joker. I didn't see that coming.' ("Taking on PJ")

Poshlust,” or in a better transliteration poshlost, has many nuances, and evidently I have not described them clearly enough in my little book on Gogol, if you think one can ask anybody if he is tempted by poshlost. Corny trash, vulgar clichés, Philistinism in all its phases, imitations of imitations, bogus profundities, crude, moronic, and dishonest pseudo-literature—these are obvious examples. Now, if we want to pin down poshlost in contemporary writing, we must look for it in Freudian symbolism, moth-eaten mythologies, social comment, humanistic messages, political allegories, overconcern with class or race, and the journalistic generalities we all know. Poshlost speaks in such concepts as “America is no better than Russia” or “We all share in Germany’s guilt.” The flowers of poshlost bloom in such phrases and terms as “the moment of truth,” “charisma,” “existential” (used seriously), “dialogue” (as applied to political talks between nations), and “vocabulary” (as applied to a dauber). Listing in one breath Auschwitz, Hiroshima, and Vietnam is seditious poshlost. Belonging to a very select club (which sports one Jewish name—that of the treasurer) is genteel poshlost. Hack reviews are frequently poshlost, but it also lurks in certain highbrow essays. Poshlost calls Mr. Blank a great poet and Mr. Bluff a great novelist. One of poshlost’s favorite breeding places has always been the Art Exhibition; there it is produced by so-called sculptors working with the tools of wreckers, building crankshaft cretins of stainless steel, Zen stereos, polystyrene stinkbirds, objects trouvés in latrines, cannonballs, canned balls. There we admire the gabinetti wall patterns of so-called abstract artists, Freudian surrealism, roric smudges, and Rorschach blots—all of it as corny in its own right as the academic “September Morns” and “Florentine Flowergirls” of half a century ago. The list is long, and, of course, everybody has his bête noire, his black pet, in the series. Mine is that airline ad: the snack served by an obsequious wench to a young couple—she eyeing ecstatically the cucumber canapé, he admiring wistfully the hostess. And, of course, Death in Venice. You see the range.

- Offre ton identité au Conseil, jeune apprentie. La voix était douce, l’ordre sans appel. - Je m’appelle Ellana Caldin. - Ton âge. Ellana hésita une fraction de seconde. Elle ignorait son âge exact, se demandait si elle n’avait pas intérêt à se vieillir. Les apprentis qu’elle avait discernés dans l’assemblée étaient tous plus âgés qu’elle, le Conseil ne risquait-il pas de la considérer comme une enfant ? Les yeux noirs d’Ehrlime fixés sur elle la dissuadèrent de chercher à la tromper. - J’ai quinze ans. Des murmures étonnés s’élevèrent dans son dos. Imperturbable, Ehrlime poursuivit son interrogatoire. - Offre-nous le nom de ton maître. - Jilano Alhuïn. Les murmures, qui s’étaient tus, reprirent. Plus marqués, Ehrlime leva une main pour exiger un silence qu’elle obtint immédiatement. - Jeune Ellana, je vais te poser une série de questions. A ces questions, tu devras répondre dans l’instant, sans réfléchir, en laissant les mots jaillir de toi comme une cascade vive. Les mots sont un cours d’eau, la source est ton âme. C’est en remontant tes mots jusqu’à ton âme que je saurai discerner si tu peux avancer sur la voie des marchombres. Es-tu prête ? - Oui. Une esquisse de sourire traversa le visage ridé d’Ehrlime. - Qu’y a-t-il au sommet de la montagne ? - Le ciel. - Que dit le loup quand il hurle ? - Joie, force et solitude. - À qui s’adresse-t-il ? - À la lune. - Où va la rivière ? L’anxiété d’Ellana s’était dissipée. Les questions d’Ehrlime étaient trop imprévues, se succédaient trop rapidement pour qu’elle ait d’autre solution qu’y répondre ainsi qu’on le lui avait demandé. Impossible de tricher. Cette évidence se transforma en une onde paisible dans laquelle elle s’immergea, laissant Ehrlime remonter le cours de ses mots jusqu’à son âme, puisque c’était ce qu’elle désirait. - Remplir la mer. - À qui la nuit fait-elle peur ? - À ceux qui attendent le jour pour voir. - Combien d’hommes as-tu déjà tués ? - Deux. - Es-tu vent ou nuage ? - Je suis moi. - Es-tu vent ou nuage ? - Vent. - Méritaient-ils la mort ? - Je l’ignore. - Es-tu ombre ou lumière ? - Je suis moi. - Es-tu ombre ou lumière ? - Les deux. - Où se trouve la voie du marchombre ? - En moi. Ellana s’exprimait avec aisance, chaque réponse jaillissant d’elle naturellement, comme une expiration après une inspiration. Fluidité. Le sourire sur le visage d’Ehrlime était revenu, plus marqué, et une pointe de jubilation perçait dans sa voix ferme. - Que devient une larme qui se brise ? - Une poussière d’étoiles. - Que fais-tu devant une rivière que tu ne peux pas traverser ? - Je la traverse. - Que devient une étoile qui meurt ? - Un rêve qui vit. - Offre-moi un mot. - Silence. - Un autre. - Harmonie. - Un dernier. - Fluidité. - L’ours et l’homme se disputent un territoire. Qui a raison ? - Le chat qui les observe. - Marie tes trois mots. - Marchombre.