The Roof Might Fall In;

I Couldn't Be Fonder Of You If You Were My Own Son. But, Well, If You Lose A Son, Its Possible To Get Another. There's Only One Maltese Falcon.

The Boy Spoke Two Words, The First A Short Guttural Verb, The Second “you.

Samuel Spade's Jaw Was Long And Bony, His Chin A Jutting V Under The More Flexible V Of His Mouth. His Nostrils Curved Back To Make Another, Smaller, V. His Yellow-grey Eyes Were Horizontal. The V Motif Was Picked Up Again By Thickish Brows Rising Outward From Twin Creases Above A Hooked Nose, And His Pale Brown Hair Grew Down--from High Flat Temples--in A Point On His Forehead. He Looked Rather Pleasantly Like A Blond Satan.

You're Drunk, And I'm Drunk, And I'm Just Exactly Drunk Enough To Tell You Anything You Want To Know. That's The Kind Of Girl I Am. If I Like A Person, I'll Tell Them Anything They Want To Know. Just Ask Me. Go Ahead, Ask Me.

I Once Knew A Man Who Stole A Ferris Wheel.