Above all, he liked it that everything was one's own fault. There was only oneself to praise or blame. Luck was a servant and not a master. Luck had to be accepted with a shrug or taken advantage of up to the hilt. But it had to be understood and recognized for what it was and not confused with a faulty appreciation of the odds, for, at gambling, the deadly sin is to mistake bad play for bad luck. And luck in all its moods had to be loved and not feared

— Ian Fleming

All women love semi-rape. They love to be taken. It was his sweet brutality against my bruised body that made his act of love so piercingly wonderful.

— Ian Fleming

And people with obsessions, reflected Bond, were blind to danger.

— Ian Fleming

As a result of 50 years of emancipation, feminine qualities were dying out or being transferred to the males. Pansies of both sexes were everywhere, not yet completely homosexual, but confused not knowing what they were. The result was a herd of unhappy sexual misfits... the women wanting to dominate and the men to be nannies.

— Ian Fleming

A scar had been beaten into his mind which would only heal by experience.

— Ian Fleming

Bond had taken her to the station and had kissed her once hard on the lips and had gone away. It hadn't been love, but a quotation had come into Bond's mind as his cab moved out of Pennsylvania station: 'Some love is fire, some love is rust. But the finest, cleanest love is lust.

— Ian Fleming

Bond sat for a moment frozen to his chair. Suddenly, there flashed unwanted into his mind that most sinister line in poetry: 'They reckon ill who leave me out. When me they fly, I am the wings.

— Ian Fleming

But I am greedy for life. I do too much of everything all the time. Suddenly one day my heart will fail. The Iron Crab will get me as it got my father. But I am not afraid of The Crab. At least I shall have died from an honorable disease. Perhaps they will put on my tombstone. 'This Man Died from Living Too Much'.

— Ian Fleming

Champagne and Benzedrine! Never again.

— Ian Fleming

Clusters of bats hung like bunches of withered grapes from the roof and when, from time to time, either Karim's head or Bond's brushed against them, they exploded twittering into the darkness.

— Ian Fleming