I don’t mind if you don’t like my manners. They’re pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter evenings.

— Raymond Chandler

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.

— Raymond Chandler

I have a sense of exile from thought, a nostalgia of the quiet room and balanced mind. I am a writer, and there comes a time when that which I write has to belong to me, has to be written alone and in silence, with no one looking over my shoulder, no one telling me a better way to write it. It doesn't have to be great writing, it doesn't even have to be terribly good. It just has to be mine.

— Raymond Chandler

I like bars just after they open for the evening. When the air inside is still cool and clean and everything is shiny, and the barkeep is giving himself that last look in the mirror to see if his tie is straight and his hair is smooth. I like the neat bottles on the bar back and the lovely shining glasses and the anticipation. I like to watch the man mix the first one of the evening and put it down on a crisp mat and put the little folded napkin beside it. Furthermore, I like to taste it slowly. The first quiet drink of the evening in a quiet bar—that's wonderful.

— Raymond Chandler

I like games of chance, including women.

— Raymond Chandler

I'm killing time and it's dying hard.

— Raymond Chandler

In writing a novel, when in doubt, have two guys come through the door with guns.

— Raymond Chandler

I sat down on the edge of a deep soft chair and looked at Mrs Regan. She was worth a stare. She was trouble.

— Raymond Chandler

It is not a fragrant world.

— Raymond Chandler

It's goddamned funny in this police racket how an old woman can look out of a window and see a guy running and pick him out of a line-up six months later, but we can show hotel help a clear photo, and they just can't be sure.'' That's one of the qualifications for good hotel help,' I said.

— Raymond Chandler