Rear Window Quotes

Lisa Fremont: How's your leg?

L.B. Jefferies: Hurts a little.

Lisa Fremont: Your stomach?

L.B. Jefferies: Empty as a football.

Lisa Fremont: And your love life?

L.B. Jefferies: Not too active.

Lisa Fremont: Anything else bothering you?

L.B. Jefferies: Uh-huh, who are you?

L.B. Jefferies: She wants me to marry her.

Stella: That's normal.

L.B. Jefferies: I don't want to.

Stella: That's abnormal.

Lisa Fremont: Today's a very special day.

L.B. Jefferies: It's just another run-of-the-mill Wednesday. The calendar's full of 'em.

L.B. Jefferies: When am I going to see you again?

Lisa Fremont: [angry] Not for a long time...

[softening]

Lisa Fremont: at least not until tomorrow night.

L.B. Jefferies: Why would a man leave his apartment three times on a rainy night with a suitcase and come back three times?

Lisa Fremont: He likes the way his wife welcomes him home.

Lisa Fremont: I wish I could be creative.

L.B. Jefferies: Oh sweetie, you are. You have a great talent for creating difficult situations.

L.B. Jefferies: [into the phone] He killed a dog last night because the dog was scratching around in the garden. You know why? Because he had something buried in that garden that the dog scented.

Tom Doyle: [voice] Like an old hambone?

L.B. Jefferies: I don't know what pet names Thorwald had for his wife.

Lisa Fremont: The last thing Mrs. Thorwald would leave behind would be her wedding ring. Stella, do you ever leave yours at home?

Stella: The only way somebody would get that would be to chop off my - finger. Let's go down to the garden and find out what's buried there.

Lisa Fremont: Why not? I always wanted to meet Mrs. Thorwald.

L.B. Jefferies: Those two yellow zinnias at the end, they're shorter now. Now since when do flowers grow shorter over the course of two weeks? Something's buried there.

Lisa Fremont: Mrs. Thorwald!

Stella: You haven't spent much time around cemeteries, have you? Mr. Thorwald could hardly bury his wife's body in plot of ground about one foot square. Unless he put her in standing on end, in which case he wouldn't need the knives and saw.

Tom Doyle: How do you do?

Lisa Fremont: We think Thorwald's guilty.

Lisa Fremont: What's a logical explanation for a woman taking a trip with no luggage?

L.B. Jefferies: That she didn't know she was going on a trip and where she was going she wouldn't need any luggage.

Lisa Fremont: Exactly.

Lisa Fremont: You can't ignore the wife dissapearing, and the trunk, and the jewelery.

Tom Doyle: I checked the railroad station. Yesterday at 6:20 am, he bought a ticket. Ten minutes later, he put his wife on a train. Destination: Meritsville. I asure you, the witnesses are that deep.

Lisa Fremont: That might have been a woman, but it couldn't have been Mrs. Thorwald. That jewelery...

Tom Doyle: Look, Miss Fremont, that feminine intuition stuff sells magazines, but in real life it's still a fairy tale. I don't know how many times I chased down leads based on women's intuition.

Lisa Fremont: What's he doing? Cleaning house?

L.B. Jefferies: He's washing and scrubbing down the bathroom walls.

Stella: Must've splattered a lot.

[both Jeff and Lisa look at Stella with disgust]

Stella: Come on, that's what were all thinkin'. He killed her in there, now he has to clean up those stains before he leaves.

Lisa Fremont: Stella... your choice of words!

Stella: Nobody ever invented a polite word for a killin' yet.

Stella: We've become a race of Peeping Toms. What people ought to do is get outside their own house and look in for a change. Yes sir. How's that for a bit of homespun philosophy?

L.B. Jefferies: Reader's Digest, April 1939.

Stella: Well, I only quote from the best.

Tom Doyle: You didn't see the killing or the body. How do you know there was a murder?

L.B. Jefferies: Because everything this fellow's done has been suspicious: trips at night in the rain, knifes, saws, trunks with rope, and now this wife that isn't there anymore.

Tom Doyle: I admit it does have a mysterious sound. But it could be any number of things for the wife disappearing. Murder is the least part.

L.B. Jefferies: Now, Doyle, don't tell me that he's just an unemployed magician amusing the neighborhood with his sleight of hand. Don't tell me that.

[first lines]

Voice on radio: Men, are you over 40? When you wake up in the morning, do you feel tired and rundown? Do you have that listless feeling...

[the camera pans around the courtyard; cut to later in the day]

L.B. Jefferies: [answering phone] Jefferies.

Gunnison: Congratulations, Jeff!

L.B. Jefferies: For what?

Gunnison: For getting rid of that cast!

L.B. Jefferies: Who said I was getting rid of it?

Gunnison: This is Wednesday; seven weeks from the day you broke your leg. Yes or no?

L.B. Jefferies: Gunnison, how did you ever get to be such a big editor with such a small memory?

Gunnison: By thrift, industry, and hard work... and, uh, catching the publisher with his secretary. Did I get the wrong day?

L.B. Jefferies: No... no, wrong week. *Next* Wednesday I emerge from this plaster cocoon.

L.B. Jefferies: I get myself half killed for you and you reward me by stealing my assignments.

Gunnison: I didn't ask you to stand in the middle of that automobile racetrack.

L.B. Jefferies: You asked for a, something dramatically different. You got it.

Gunnison: So did you.

Gunnison: It's about time you got married, before you turn into a lonesome and bitter old man.

L.B. Jefferies: Yeah, can't you just see me, rushing home to a hot apartment to listen to the automatic laundry and the electric dishwasher and the garbage disposal and the nagging wife...

Gunnison: Jeff, wives don't nag anymore. They discuss.

L.B. Jefferies: Oh, is that so, is that so? Well, maybe in the high-rent district they discuss. In my neighborhood they still nag.

Stella: The New York State sentence for a Peeping Tom is six months in the workhouse.

L.B. Jefferies: Oh, hello, Stella.

Stella: And they got no windows in the workhouse.

Stella: You heard of that market crash in '29? I predicted that.

L.B. Jefferies: Oh, just how did you do that, Stella?

Stella: Oh, simple. I was nursing a director of General Motors. Kidney ailment, they said. Nerves, I said. And I asked myself, "What's General Motors got to be nervous about?" Overproduction, I says; collapse. When General Motors has to go to the bathroom ten times a day, the whole country's ready to let go.

L.B. Jefferies: She's too perfect, she's too talented, she's too beautiful, she's too sophisticated, she's too everything but what I want.

Stella: Is, um, what you want something you can discuss?

L.B. Jefferies: Would you fix me a sandwich, please?

Stella: Yes, I will. And I'll spread a little common sense on the bread.

[describing a dress]

Lisa Fremont: A steal at $1,100.

L.B. Jefferies: Eleven hundred? They ought to list that dress on the stock exchange.

L.B. Jefferies: She's like a queen bee with her pick of the drones.

Lisa Fremont: I'd say she's doing a woman's hardest job: juggling wolves.

L.B. Jefferies: She sure is the "eat, drink and be merry" girl.

Stella: Yeah, she'll wind up fat, alcoholic and miserable.

Stella: Maybe one day she'll find her happiness.

L.B. Jefferies: Yeah, some man'll lose his.

L.B. Jefferies: I just can't figure it. He went out several times last night in the rain carrying his sample case.

Stella: Well, he's a salesman, isn't he?

L.B. Jefferies: Well, what would he be selling at three o'clock in the morning?

Stella: Flashlights. Luminous dials for watches. House numbers that light up.

Stella: He's gonna run out on her, the coward.

L.B. Jefferies: Sometimes it's worse to stay than it is to run.

L.B. Jefferies: Are you interested in solving this case or in making me look foolish?

Tom Doyle: Well, if possible, both.

L.B. Jefferies: Well then, do a good job of it. Go over there and search Thorwald's apartment. The whole place must be knee-deep in evidence.

Tom Doyle: I can't do that.

L.B. Jefferies: No, I mean not right now. Just wait for a while until he goes out later for drink or a paper or something. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Tom Doyle: I can't do that even if he isn't there.

L.B. Jefferies: Why not? Does he have a courtesy card from the local police department?

Tom Doyle: Now don't get me angry. This is America. Not even a detective can just walk into an apartment and search it. Why, personally, if I was caught in there, they'd have my badge within 10 minutes.

L.B. Jefferies: Then make sure you don't get caught, that's all. If you find something, you have a murder. They'd probably not care very much about a few broken house rules. If you don't find anything, the fellow's clear.

L.B. Jefferies: You know by tomorrow morning, there may not be any evidence left in that apartment. You know that?

Tom Doyle: A detective's worst nightmare.

L.B. Jefferies: Well, then want do you need as probable cause for a search warrant? Bloody footprints leading up to his front door?

Tom Doyle: One thing I don't need is heckling. You called me and asked for help. Now you're behaving like a taxpayer.

Lisa Fremont: Where does a man get inspiration to write a song like that?

L.B. Jefferies: He gets it from the landlady once a month.

Tom Doyle: What do you say we all sit down and have a nice friendly drink too, hmm? Forget all about this. We can tell lies about the good old days during the war.

L.B. Jefferies: So that's it? You're through with the case?

Tom Doyle: There is no case to be solved. There never was.

[last lines]

Newlywed woman: ...but if you'd told me you quit your job, we wouldn't have gotten married.

Newlywed man: Oh, honey, come on.

Detective: [referring to what was buried in Thorwald's flower bed] He said the dog got too inquisitive, so he dug it up. It's in a hat box over in his apartment.

Tom Doyle: Want to look?

Stella: No thanks, I don't want any part of her.

L.B. Jefferies: [shivering as cold alcohol is poured on his back before a rubdown] Say, don't you ever heat that stuff up?

Stella: Aw, it gives your system something to fight against.

L.B. Jefferies: What about the knife and saw I saw him wrapping up in newspaper?

Tom Doyle: Do you own a saw?

L.B. Jefferies: Well... yeah. At home in my garage, I keep...

Tom Doyle: How many people did you cut up with it?

[regarding Jeff's telephoto lens]

Stella: Mind if I use that portable keyhole?

Lisa Fremont: Did Lt. Doyle think I stole this purse?

L.B. Jefferies: No, Lisa, I don't think he did.

Stella: How much do we need to bail Lisa from jail?

L.B. Jefferies: Well, this is first offense burglary, that's about $250. I have $127.

Stella: Lisa's handbag. Uh... 50 cents. I got $20 or so in my purse.

L.B. Jefferies: And what about the rest?

Stella: When those cops at the station see Lisa, they'll even contribute.

L.B. Jefferies: I've seen bickering and family quarrels and mysterious trips at night, and knives and saws and ropes, and now since last evening, not a sign of the wife. How do you explain that?

Lisa Fremont: Maybe she died.

L.B. Jefferies: Where's the doctor? Where's the undertaker?

[Jeff dials the number for Thorwald's phone. Thorwald is seen from a distance walking over to the phone and standing by it]

L.B. Jefferies: [quietly to himself] Come on, Thorwald, answer it. Come on, you're curious. You wonder if it's your girlfriend calling. The one you killed for. Go on, pick it up!

[Thorwald is seen picking up the phone]

Lars Thorwald: [voice] Hello?

L.B. Jefferies: Did you get my note? Well, did you get it Thorwald?

Lars Thorwald: [voice] Who are you?

L.B. Jefferies: I'll give you a chance to find out. Meet me in the bar at the Albert Hotel. Do it right away.

Lars Thorwald: [voice] Why should I?

L.B. Jefferies: A little business meeting... to settle the estate of your late wife.

Lars Thorwald: [voice] I... I don't know what you mean.

L.B. Jefferies: Come on, quit stalling or I'll hang up and call the police. Would you like that?

Lars Thorwald: [voice] I only have 100 dollars or so.

L.B. Jefferies: That's a start. I'm at the Albert now. I'll be looking for you.

[Jeff hangs up]

[Thorwald forces Jeff's apartment door open and stands before him, closing the door behind him]

Lars Thorwald: What do you want from me?

[Jeff does not reply]

Lars Thorwald: Your friend, the girl, could have turned me in. Why didn't she?

[no reply]

Lars Thorwald: What do you want? A lot of money? I don't have any money.

[no reply]

Lars Thorwald: Say something.

[no reply]

Lars Thorwald: Say something! Tell me what you want!

[Jeff continues to remain silent]

Lars Thorwald: Can you get me that ring back?

L.B. Jefferies: No.

Lars Thorwald: Tell her to bring it back!

L.B. Jefferies: I can't. The police have it by now.

L.B. Jefferies: Who said they left then?

Tom Doyle: Who left where?

L.B. Jefferies: The Thorwalds at six o'clock in the morning yesterday.

Tom Doyle: The building superintendant and two tennants in the building lobby. Flat out statements with no hesitation. The Thorwalds were on their way to the railroad station.

L.B. Jefferies: Now Tom, how could anyone possible guess that? Did they have signs on their luggage saying 'Grand Central or Bust'?

Tom Doyle: The superintenant met Thorwald when he came back. When he asked where he'd been, Mr. Thorwald told him that he took his wife to Grand Central Railroad Station and put her on a train for the country. See?

L.B. Jefferies: I see. This superintenant must be a pretty bright guy. Have you checked his bank statements recently? See if he was paid off?

Tom Doyle: [bewildered] Huh?

L.B. Jefferies: Well, what good is his information? It's a second-hand version of an unsupported story by the murderer himself: Thorwald. Now, did anyone actually see the woman that Thorwald was with get on the train?

Tom Doyle: Jeff, I hate to bring this up but this whole thing started because you said she was murdered. Now, did you or anyone else see Mrs. Thorwald being murdered?

L.B. Jefferies: All right, Doyle. I take it that you didn't find the trunk. And all of this is just some speech you made up at a policeman's ball!

Tom Doyle: I found the trunk, a half an hour after I left here this morning. It was at Grand Central Station.

Lisa Fremont: I suppose it's necessary for a man to tie up a trunk with heavy rope?

Tom Doyle: If the lock is broken, yes.

L.B. Jefferies: And what did you find inside the trunk? Surely no tomato paste to me?

Tom Doyle: Mrs. Thorwald's clothes. Clean, well-packed, not stylish, but presentable.

Lisa Fremont: Didn't you take them to the crime lab to have them examined?

Tom Doyle: I re-packed them and sent them on their merry and legal way.

L.B. Jefferies: Why would a woman who is going away for a short trip does she take everything that she owns?

Tom Doyle: [glares at Lisa] Let's let the female psychologist answer that.

Lisa Fremont: It's looks to me like she is never coming back.

Tom Doyle: Now, that is known as a private family quarrel.

L.B. Jefferies: All right, but if she was never coming back, why didn't he tell his landlord that? I'll tell you why Thorwald never told his landlord that his wife was never coming back. It's because he was hiding something in the apartment... or he still is.

Tom Doyle: [stares at Lisa's overnight bag nearby] Do you tell your landlord everything?

L.B. Jefferies: [embarassed] Uh... I told you to be careful, Tom.

L.B. Jefferies: I made a simple statement, a true statement, but I can back it up if you'll just shut up for a minute.

Lisa Fremont: If your opinion is as rude as your manner, I don't think I care to hear it.

L.B. Jefferies: Oh, come on now, simmer down.

Lisa Fremont: I can't fit in here, you can't fit in there. According to you, people should be born, live, and die on the same spot.

L.B. Jefferies: Shut up!

Tom Doyle: Oh, so anything you need, Jeff?

L.B. Jefferies: You might send me a good detective.

L.B. Jefferies: Now wait a minute, Gunnison. You've got to get me out of here. Six weeks sitting in a two-room apartment with nothing to do but look out the window at the neighbors.

Gunnison: Bye, Jeff.

L.B. Jefferies: No, Gunnison... if you don't pull me out of this swamp of boredom, I'm gonna do something drastic.

Gunnison: Like what?

L.B. Jefferies: Like what. I'm gonna get married. Then I'll never be able to go anywhere.

Tom Doyle: [describing Thorwald's history] He took the apartment for a six-month lease. Used up a little more than five-and-a-half months of it. According the tenants, he's quiet. Drinks, but not to drunkeness. Pays his bills promptly with money earned as a costume jewelry salesman, wholesale. Kept to himself. None of his neighbors got close to him or his wife.

L.B. Jefferies: I think they missed their chance with her.

Tom Doyle: She never left the apartment... .

L.B. Jefferies: They why did...

Tom Doyle: [cutting Jeff off] Till yesterday morning.

L.B. Jefferies: Yesterday morning? What time?

Tom Doyle: Six a.m.

L.B. Jefferies: 6:00 AM? That must have been around the time I was asleep.

Tom Doyle: Too bad. The Thorwalds were seen leaving their apartment around that time. Feel a little foolish?

L.B. Jefferies: No, not yet.