Anthony Boucher > Quotes

“Among the extremely diverse books lumped together as 'mysteries,' I shall try to judge each fairly according to the best standards of the type which the author intended to produce.”
― Anthony Boucher

“On Friday evening Martin and Mona went to the United Artists Theatre to see a film already being mentioned for the Academy award. It had three stars, ran a hundred and ten minutes, and bored them both to petrifaction. (In brief, the award was in the bag.)
The Case of the Seven of Calvary”
― Anthony Boucher

“…We have not fully deciphered his language but I have, as instructed, been keeping full phonetic transcriptions of his every remark. Trubaz has calculated psychologically that the meaning of this remark to be:
“Ministers of the Great one, be gracious to me.”
The phonetic transcription is as follows:
AND THEY TALK ABOUT PINK ELEPHANTS!”
― Anthony Boucher

“It was so completely obvious, and yet what proof was there? It was, Martin thought, like the rabbit which the Hindus see in the moon. It is next to impossible to make people see it; but once they have recognized it, they will never see a face or a man or a woman there again. It is obvious that there is a rabbit in the moon; but obviousness seems too often unsusceptible of proof.
The Case of the Seven of Calvary”
― Anthony Boucher

“And it seems to me, Miss O'Breen, that to forswear mercy is to forswear humanity. If to destroy evil we take up its very weapons, we shall learn in time that all we have destroyed is the best in ourselves.

[Jonadab Evans]”
― Anthony Boucher, The Case of the Baker Street Irregulars

“In my mind ran the immortal line of James Thurber, that phrase at once so intensely comic and so pregnant with suggestions of unnameable terror: "Now we go up to the garrick and become warbs." We were going up to the garrick all right, and warbs suddenly seemed the least terrifying of the things we might become.”
― Anthony Boucher, The Case of the Baker Street Irregulars

“Even Asmodeus, that limping devil who looked through rooftops at men's most secret actions, could not have told which of these thoughts masked an undercurrent of joy -- the joy of the man who know that he has killed wisely and well.”
― Anthony Boucher, The Case of the Baker Street Irregulars

“Still, I think Hardy's the most likely person in this theater to be snapped up by the studios."
"But he can't act!" Norman protested.
"Sure he can't act. Neither can Nelson Eddy, and he makes a living."
"But Eddy can sing."
"All right. So Hardy can't sing either. That makes him twice as attractive.”
― Anthony Boucher, The Case of the Solid Key

“...ten centuries ago people would have snorted just like that at the idea of a black as Head on this planet. Such narrow stupidity seems fantastic to us now. Our own prejudices will seem just as comical to our great-great-grandchildren.”
― Anthony Boucher, The Compleat Werewolf and Other Stories of Fantasy and Science Fiction

“James Hilton, who had himself endured an almost equally amazing mass enthusiasm, referred in a radio talk to Mr. Winton’s admirable “Threenody.” This sent thousands scurrying to the Oxford English Dictionary, and set other thousands writing indignantly to their pet radio editors. Fifty-three per cent of these managed an indirect reference to England’s war debt.”
― Anthony Boucher, Exeunt Murderers: The Best Mystery Stories of Anthony Boucher

“Darling, was that shiver what is technically known as a wince? I’ve always wondered what one looked like.” Concha laughed. “Don’t be silly. A wince is what you pull buckets out of wells with.” “Oh. I thought it was something you made jelly out of.” “Or of course,” Concha suggested, “it could be what you start a bedtime story with. Wince upon a time . . .”
― Anthony Boucher, Rocket to the Morgue

“Optical fatigue-“ Tallant Began.
“Sure. I know every man to his own legend. There isn’t a tribe of Indians hasn’t some accounting for it. You’ve heard of the Watchers? And the twentieth century white-man comes along and it is optical fatigue. Only in the nineteeth century things weren’t quite the same and there were the Carkers.”
“You got a special localized legend?”
“Call it that. You glimpse things out of the corner of your mind, like you glimpse lean, dry things out of the corner of your eye. You encase them in solid circumstance and thy’re not so bad. That is the growth of the legend. The Folk Mind in Action. You take Carkers and the things you don’t see and you put them together. And they bite.”
― Anthony Boucher

“The working press -- a strange expression that; it calls up a picture of a horde of other pressmen lolling about Hollywood on sumptuous divans, smother by bevies of attendant odalisques, and thinking scornfully of their colleagues of the WORKING press -- the working press took kindly to the reception for the Baker Street Irregulars.”
― Anthony Boucher, The Case of the Baker Street Irregulars

“Mr. Evans beamed. "Could I get you a drink?" he said. The words were ordinary; the phrase was one that Maureen had heard and often welcomed at endless dozens of parties. But Mr. Evans managed to invest it with such a delightful Edwardian gallantry that you almost thought he had said, "May I bring an ice to you in the conservatory?”
― Anthony Boucher, The Case of the Baker Street Irregulars

“Beer gurgled through the beard. 'You see,' the young man began, 'the desert's so big you can't be alone in it. Ever notice that? It's all empty and there's nothing in sight, but there's always something moving over there where you can't quite see it. It's something very dry and thin and brown, only when you look around it isn't there. Ever see it?'

'Optical fatigue -' Tallant began.

'Sure. I know. Every man to his own legend. There isn't a tribe of Indians hasn't got some way of accounting for it. You've heard of the Watchers? And the twentieth-century white man comes along, and it's optical fatigue. Only in the nineteenth century things weren't quite the same, and there were the Carkers.'

'You've got a special localized legend?'

'Call it that. You glimpse things out of the corner of your mind, same like you glimpse lean, dry things out of the corner of your eye. You incase 'em in solid circumstance and they're not so bad. That is known as the Growth of Legend. The Folk Mind in Action. You take the Carkers and the things you don't quite see and put 'em together. And they bite.'

Tallant wondered how long that beard had been absorbing beer. 'And what were the Carkers?' he prompted politely.

'Ever hear of Sawney Bean? Scotland - reign of James the First or maybe the Sixth, though I think Roughead's wrong on that for once. Or let's be more modern - ever hear of the Benders? Kansas in the 1870's? No? Ever hear of Procrustes? Or Polyphemus? Or Fee-fi-fo-fum?

'There are ogres, you know. They're no legend. They're fact, they are. The inn where nine guests left for every ten that arrived, the mountain cabin that sheltered travelers from the snow, sheltered them all winter till the melting spring uncovered their bones, the lonely stretches of road that so many passengers traveled halfway - you'll find 'em everywhere. All over Europe and pretty much in this country too before communications became what they are. Profitable business. And it wasn't just the profit. The Benders made money, sure; but that wasn't why they killed all their victims as carefully as a kosher butcher. Sawney Bean got so he didn't give a damn about the profit; he just needed to lay in more meat for the winter.

'And think of the chances you'd have at an oasis.'

'So these Carkers of yours were, as you call them, ogres?'

'Carkers, ogres - maybe they were Benders. The Benders were never seen alive, you know, after the townspeople found those curiously butchered bodies. There's a rumor they got this far West. And the time checks pretty well. There wasn't any town here in the 80s. Just a couple of Indian families - last of a dying tribe living on at the oasis. They vanished after the Carkers moved in. That's not so surprising. The white race is a sort of super-ogre, anyway. Nobody worried about them. But they used to worry about why so many travelers never got across this stretch of desert. The travelers used to stop over at the Carkers, you see, and somehow they often never got any further. Their wagons'd be found maybe fifteen miles beyond in the desert. Sometimes they found the bones, too, parched and white. Gnawed-looking, they said sometimes.'

'And nobody ever did anything about these Carkers?'

'Oh, sure. We didn't have King James the Sixth - only I still think it was the First - to ride up on a great white horse for a gesture, but twice there were Army detachments came here and wiped them all out.'

'Twice? One wiping-out would do for most families.'

Tallant smiled at the beery confusion of the young man's speech.

'Uh-huh, That was no slip. They wiped out the Carkers twice because you see once didn't do any good. They wiped 'em out and still travelers vanished and still there were white gnawed bones. So they wiped 'em out again. After that they gave up, and people detoured the oasis.

("They Bite")”
― Anthony Boucher, Zacherley's Vulture Stew

“Her bosom heaved, and she was just the guy to do it.”
― Anthony Boucher, Rocket to the Morgue

“a splendid treat for the Mexican children who came weekly in school busses from the north end of town.”
― Anthony Boucher, Rocket to the Morgue

“But a werewolf is a man that chages into a wolf. I’ve never done that. Honest I haven’t.”
“A mammal,” Said Ozymandias, “is an animal that bears its young and suckles them. A virgin is nonetheless a mammal. Because you have never changed doesn’t make you less of a werewolf.”
“But a werewolf-“ Suddenly Wolfe’s eyes lit up. “A werewolf is better than a G-man!”
― Anthony Boucher, The Compleat Werewolf and Other Stories of Fantasy and Science Fiction

“There is no telling what would happen if I taught her The Word.”
“Not the least. Of course, there’s some werethings that just aren’t much use being. Take a wereant. You change and somebody steps on you and that’s that. Or like a fella, I knew in Madagascar. Taught him the Word and know what? He turned wereiplodicus. Shattered the whole house into pieces when he changed and damned near trampled me under hoof before I could say Absarka!”
― Anthony Boucher, The Compleat Werewolf and Other Stories of Fantasy and Science Fiction