Minnie Littlejohn:
Will Varner, I heard you was in that fire!
Will Varner: Simmer down, Minnie. You ain't a rich widow yet.
--Orson Welles (as Will Varner) in The Long, Hot Summer
Will Varner: Simmer down, Minnie. You ain't a rich widow yet.
--Orson Welles (as Will Varner) in The Long, Hot Summer
Jane Eyre:
I should never mistake informality for insolence. One, I rather like; the other, no free-born person would submit to, even for a salary.
Edward Rochester: Humbug! Most free-born people would submit to anything for a salary.
--Orson Welles (as Edward Rochester) in Jane Eyre
Edward Rochester: Humbug! Most free-born people would submit to anything for a salary.
--Orson Welles (as Edward Rochester) in Jane Eyre
Arthur Bannister:
Do you drink?
Michael O'Hara: I beg your pardon?
Arthur Bannister: I asked you if you drink.
Michael O'Hara: Whatever's set in front of me. Doesn't have to be wholesome, as long as it's strong.
--Orson Welles (as Michael O'Hara) in The Lady from Shanghai
Michael O'Hara: I beg your pardon?
Arthur Bannister: I asked you if you drink.
Michael O'Hara: Whatever's set in front of me. Doesn't have to be wholesome, as long as it's strong.
--Orson Welles (as Michael O'Hara) in The Lady from Shanghai
[first lines]
Narrator: The magnificence of the Ambersons began in 1873. Their splendor lasted throughout all the years that saw their midland town spread and darken into a city. In that town, in those days, all the women who wore silk or velvet knew all the other women who wore silk or velvet, and everybody knew everybody else's family horse and carriage. The only public conveyance was the streetcar. A lady could whistle to it from an upstairs window, and the car would halt at once and wait for her, while she shut the window, put on her hat and coat, went downstairs, found an umbrella, told the girl what to have for dinner, and came forth from the house. Too slow for us nowadays, because the faster we're carried, the less time we have to spare. During the earlier years of this period, while bangs and bustles were having their way with women, there were seen men of all ages to whom a hat meant only that rigid, tall silk thing known to impudence as a stovepipe. But the long contagion of the derby had arrived. One season the crown of this hat would be a bucket; the next it would be a spoon. Every house still kept its bootjack, but high-top boots gave way to shoes and congress gaiters, and these were played through fashions that shaped them now with toes like box ends, and now with toes like the prows of racing shells. Trousers with a crease were considered plebian; the crease proved that the garment had lain upon a shelf and hence was ready-made. With evening dress, a gentleman wore a tan overcoat, so short that his black coattails hung visible five inches below the overcoat. But after a season or two, he lengthened his overcoat till it touched his heels. And he passed out of his tight trousers into trousers like great bags. In those days, they had time for everything. Time for sleigh rides, and balls, and assemblies, and cotillions, and open house on New Year's, and all-day picnics in the woods, and even that prettiest of all vanished customs: the serenade. Of a summer night, young men would bring an orchestra under a pretty girl's window, and flute, harp, fiddle, cello, cornet, bass viol, would presently release their melodies to the dulcet stars. Against so home-spun a background, the magnificence of the Ambersons was as conspicuous as a brass band at a funeral.
--Orson Welles (as Narrator) in The Magnificent Ambersons
Narrator: The magnificence of the Ambersons began in 1873. Their splendor lasted throughout all the years that saw their midland town spread and darken into a city. In that town, in those days, all the women who wore silk or velvet knew all the other women who wore silk or velvet, and everybody knew everybody else's family horse and carriage. The only public conveyance was the streetcar. A lady could whistle to it from an upstairs window, and the car would halt at once and wait for her, while she shut the window, put on her hat and coat, went downstairs, found an umbrella, told the girl what to have for dinner, and came forth from the house. Too slow for us nowadays, because the faster we're carried, the less time we have to spare. During the earlier years of this period, while bangs and bustles were having their way with women, there were seen men of all ages to whom a hat meant only that rigid, tall silk thing known to impudence as a stovepipe. But the long contagion of the derby had arrived. One season the crown of this hat would be a bucket; the next it would be a spoon. Every house still kept its bootjack, but high-top boots gave way to shoes and congress gaiters, and these were played through fashions that shaped them now with toes like box ends, and now with toes like the prows of racing shells. Trousers with a crease were considered plebian; the crease proved that the garment had lain upon a shelf and hence was ready-made. With evening dress, a gentleman wore a tan overcoat, so short that his black coattails hung visible five inches below the overcoat. But after a season or two, he lengthened his overcoat till it touched his heels. And he passed out of his tight trousers into trousers like great bags. In those days, they had time for everything. Time for sleigh rides, and balls, and assemblies, and cotillions, and open house on New Year's, and all-day picnics in the woods, and even that prettiest of all vanished customs: the serenade. Of a summer night, young men would bring an orchestra under a pretty girl's window, and flute, harp, fiddle, cello, cornet, bass viol, would presently release their melodies to the dulcet stars. Against so home-spun a background, the magnificence of the Ambersons was as conspicuous as a brass band at a funeral.
--Orson Welles (as Narrator) in The Magnificent Ambersons
[last lines]
Jonathan Wilk: In those years to come, you might find yourself asking if it wasn't the hand of god dropped these glasses... And if he didn't, who did?
--Orson Welles (as ) in Compulsion
Jonathan Wilk: In those years to come, you might find yourself asking if it wasn't the hand of god dropped these glasses... And if he didn't, who did?
--Orson Welles (as ) in Compulsion
[to Jody Varner]
Will Varner: I put down a big footprint. I said: 'Here. Step here. Fill it.' You never did.
--Orson Welles (as Will Varner) in The Long, Hot Summer
Will Varner: I put down a big footprint. I said: 'Here. Step here. Fill it.' You never did.
--Orson Welles (as Will Varner) in The Long, Hot Summer
Harry Lime:
Nobody thinks in terms of human beings. Governments don't. Why should we? They talk about the people and the proletariat, I talk about the suckers and the mugs - it's the same thing. They have their five-year plans, so have I.
Martins: You used to believe in God.
Harry Lime: Oh, I still do believe in God, old man. I believe in God and Mercy and all that. But the dead are happier dead. They don't miss much here, poor devils.
--Orson Welles (as Harry Lime) in The Third Man
Martins: You used to believe in God.
Harry Lime: Oh, I still do believe in God, old man. I believe in God and Mercy and all that. But the dead are happier dead. They don't miss much here, poor devils.
--Orson Welles (as Harry Lime) in The Third Man
Martins:
Have you ever seen any of your victims?
Harry Lime: You know, I never feel comfortable on these sort of things. Victims? Don't be melodramatic. Look down there. Tell me. Would you really feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever? If I offered you twenty thousand pounds for every dot that stopped, would you really, old man, tell me to keep my money, or would you calculate how many dots you could afford to spare? Free of income tax, old man. Free of income tax - the only way you can save money nowadays.
--Orson Welles (as Harry Lime) in The Third Man
Harry Lime: You know, I never feel comfortable on these sort of things. Victims? Don't be melodramatic. Look down there. Tell me. Would you really feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever? If I offered you twenty thousand pounds for every dot that stopped, would you really, old man, tell me to keep my money, or would you calculate how many dots you could afford to spare? Free of income tax, old man. Free of income tax - the only way you can save money nowadays.
--Orson Welles (as Harry Lime) in The Third Man