The Thin Man

by Dashiell Hammett

“How do you feel?” “Terrible. I must’ve gone to bed sober.”

It’s a funny thing—I suppose you’ve noticed it—the people who lie the most are nearly always the clumsiest at it, and they’re easier to fool with lies than most people, too. You’d think they’d be on the look-out for lies, but they seem to be the very ones that will believe almost anything at all.

Nick, but what do people think of me?” “You’re like everybody else: some people like you, some people don’t, and some have no feeling about it one way or the other.”

I guess I can put two and two together.” “Sometimes the answer’s four,” I said, “and sometimes it’s twenty-two.

Nora said: “I love you, Nicky, because you smell nice and know such fascinating people.”

“Why don’t you stay sober today?” “We didn’t come to New York to stay sober. Want to see a hockey game tonight?”

Murder doesn’t round out anybody’s life except the murdered’s and sometimes the murderer’s.” “That may be,” Nora said, “but it’s all pretty unsatisfactory.”