Now in order to tell the difference between good and evil, we have manufactured two images representing the extremes – representing the deepest black and the purest white – and we call them God and th...
Mania, my dear Mister Bond, is as priceless as genius. Dissipation
Like all harsh, cold men, he was easily tipped over into sentiment.
Le Chiffre was serving a wonderful purpose, a really vital purpose, perhaps the best and highest purpose of all. By his evil existence, which foolishly I have helped to destroy, he was creating a norm...
In his particular line of business, peace had reigned for nearly a year. And peace was killing him.
IT WAS twelve o’clock when Bond left the Splendide and the clock on the ‘mairie’ was stumbling through its midday carillon.
His face showed neither pleasure nor excitement.
He was used to oblique control and rather liked it. He felt it feather-bedded him a little, allowed him to give or take an hour or two in his communications with M.
Certainly, Effendi,’ the man bowed Bond to the lift. ‘But alas the plumbers are in your former room. The water supply . . .’ the voice trailed away. The lift rose about ten feet and stopped at the fir...
And then there was this pest of a girl. He sighed. Women were for recreation. On a job, they got in the way and fogged things up with sex and hurt feelings and all the emotional baggage they carried a...
You’re a bloody anarchist.’ He threw his arms in the air and let them fall helplessly to his sides. Bond laughed. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Take our friend Le Chiffre. It’s simple enough to say he was an...
Why not make it for always?
We have been feeling for some time that Le Chiffre is getting into deep water. In nearly all respects he is an admirable agent of the U.S.S.R., but his gross physical habits and predilections are an A...
Never send a man where you can send a bullet.
Love of life is born of the awareness of death, of the dread of it.
Leiter chuckled and reached in his left-hand pocket for a dime as they came to the Henry Hudson Bridge toll.
It’s just that I’d rather die of drink than of thirst.
He sensed a lonely childhood on some great decaying plantation, an echoing ‘Great House’ slowly falling into disrepair and being encroached on by the luxuriance of the tropics. The parents dying, and...
He found something grisly in the inevitability of the pattern of each affair. The conventional parabola – sentiment, the touch of the hand, the kiss, the passionate kiss, the feel of the body, the cli...
He cursed himself and cursed the hubris which had made him so sure the battle was won and the enemy in flight.