Bond sat for a moment frozen to his chair. Suddenly, there flashed unwanted into his mind that most sinister line in poetry: 'They reckon ill who leave me out. When me they fly, I am the wings.
Ian FlemingYou are about to awake when you dream that you are dreaming.
Ian FlemingTags: dreams
Prohibition is the trigger of crime.
Ian FlemingTags: crime prohibition
Never say 'no' to adventures. Always say 'yes,' otherwise you'll lead a very dull life.
Ian FlemingBond had taken her to the station and had kissed her once hard on the lips and had gone away. It hadn't been love, but a quotation had come into Bond's mind as his cab moved out of Pennsylvania station: 'Some love is fire, some love is rust. But the finest, cleanest love is lust.
Ian FlemingThe difference between a good golf shot and a bad one is the same as the difference between a beautiful and a plain woman --a matter of millimetres.
Ian FlemingTags: insightful beauty golf
The naked man who lay splayed out on his face beside the swimming pool might have been dead.
Ian FlemingTags: james-bond death dead
It is not just a question of blowing up a building or shooting a prime minister. Such bourgeois horseplay is not contemplated. Our operation must be delicate, refined and aimed at the heart of the Intelligence apparat of the West.
Ian FlemingTags: james-bond death assassination refinement horseplay
For her, sex was nothing more than an itch. And this phsychological and physiological neutrality of hers at once relieved her of so many human emotions and sentiments and desires. Sexual neutrality was the essence of coldness in an individual. It was a great and wonderful thing to be born with.
Ian FlemingTags: sex emotion sentiment desire neutrality coldness
For, or so they whispered, she would take the camp-stool and draw it up close below the face of the man or woman that hung down over the edge of the interrogation table. Then she would squat down on the stool and and look into the face and quietly say 'No. 1' or 'No. 10' or 'No. 25' and the inquisitors would know what she meant and they would begin. And she would watch the eyes in the face a few inches away from hers and breathe in the screams as if they were perfume.
Ian FlemingTags: pain torture interrogation screams
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