Sidney Bruhl: Every time I come in this bloody house, you scream!
Stewart Klein: Sidney Bruhl's new play, which opened at the Music Box is billed as a comedy-thriller. So much for truth in advertising.
Myra Bruhl: Is it really that good?
Sidney Bruhl: I'll tell you how good it is. Even a gifted director couldn't hurt it.
Sidney Bruhl: Darling, though I might be capable of killing Clifford Anderson, I am not up to the criminal behavior of a Broadway producer.
Sidney Bruhl: What I should do is, beat the fat bastard over the head with that mace over there, bury him in a hole big enough to accomodate his bloat, and then send his little masterpiece off under my own name.
Myra Bruhl: Ohh...
Sidney Bruhl: Heh heh. Now, there's the best idea I've had in ten years.
Myra Bruhl: Yes, darling, it's so unfair, isn't it?
Sidney Bruhl: I mean, what's the point in owning a mace, if you don't use it?
Sidney Bruhl: I wonder if it would not be... well, just a trifle starry-eyed of me to contemplate a partnership where I could count on no sense of moral obligation whatsoever.
Sidney Bruhl: Why make it anywhere? Why make it?
Clifford Anderson: Hahaha, because it's there, Sidney!
Sidney Bruhl: That's mountains, not plays! Plays are not there until some asshole writes them!
Clifford Anderson: It has to be a playwright who writes thrillers because, I don't know, Arthur Miller probably has old sample cases hanging on the wall.
Sidney Bruhl: No blood on the carpet... ten points for neatness.
Clifford Anderson: [with a gun pointed at him, which only clicks and does not fire] Bang, bang. Sorry, the click is so anticlimactic, Sidney, but I needed the bullets from that gun...
[takes a gun down from the wall]
Clifford Anderson: ... for this one. Now sit down, down, down. Sit down! Right in that chair, thank you. "Reversal," Sidney! Remember? You stressed it in the seminar. First day!
Myra Bruhl: But won't he have another copy lying around somewhere?
Sidney Bruhl: And notes and rough drafts and outlines! And on opening day of my triumph his gray-haired old mother will come running down the aisle...
Sidney Bruhl: I'll bury him in the yard. No, the vegetable patch! Easier digging.
[the actor on stage delivers an unintelligible line]
First Audience Member: It's the worst play I've ever seen.
Second Audience Member: I can't believe Sidney Bruhl wrote it.
Seymour Starger: Helga, baby, we got ourselves a smash. What a play you wrote! We're gonna make ourselves a fortune here, Helga!
Helga Ten Dorp: Waste not, want not!
Myra Bruhl: Well, have you thought about collaboration?
Sidney Bruhl: I don't want any help in killing Clifford Anderson. I want to strike the blow myself.
[Clifford stops typing and sees that Sidney is reading the newspaper rather than also working]
Clifford Anderson: Nothing doing? Why don't you have Helga Ten Dorp over? I don't know, maybe talking with her might spark something.
[Sidney glares at him and removes the cigar from his mouth.]
Sidney Bruhl: You do like to live dangerously, don't you?
[Clifford sits back in his chair, chuckling.]
Sidney Bruhl: This is Clifford Anderson, my secretary; my friend, Porter Milgrim.
Clifford Anderson: How do you do, sir?
Porter Milgrim: How do you do.
Clifford Anderson: Nice to meet you.
Sidney Bruhl: I would say "my attorney," but he'd bill me.
Clifford Anderson: Would you like me to explain?
Sidney Bruhl: What, that you're a lunatic with a death-wish?
Clifford Anderson: Ha ha ha. I've got the same wish you have, Sidney - a success wish!
Sidney Bruhl: Clifford, I hate to ask this, but could you give me your own special definition of success, being gangbanged in the shower in the state penitentiary?
Clifford Anderson: Aw, geez, I knew you were going to have reservations about it.
Sidney Bruhl: Reservations? I am standing here, petrified, stupefied, horrified! How's that for bloody reservations?
Clifford Anderson: Come on, Sidney, listen. Look, there is no way... there is no way for anybody to prove what did or did not cause Myra to have a heart attack.
Sidney Bruhl: I have a name and a reputation! Somewhat tattered, perhaps. But still good for dinner invitations and summer seminars.
Clifford Anderson: Are you trying to say that you don't think that you can trust me?
Sidney Bruhl: How clearly you put it!
Sidney Bruhl: Clifford, my dear, in your run-ins with the law, in your infancy so to speak, did any of the doctors, policemen, shrinks, did any of them ever use... the... word...?
Clifford Anderson: What word Sidney?
Sidney Bruhl: Sociopath?
Clifford Anderson: Does that word... frighten you, Sidney?
Sidney Bruhl: No, no. It does however, give me pause.
Clifford Anderson: I want a short cut, Sidney. And I really don't care whose yard I cut through, if you understand me.