The Lost Weekend quotes
37 total quotes'Bim' Nolan
Don Birnam
Gloria
Multiple Characters
View Quote
Nat: Why don't you cut it short?
Don: I can't cut it short. I'm on that merry-go-round. You gotta ride it all the way. Round and round until that blasted music wears itself out and the thing dies down and comes to a stop...At night, the stuff's a drink. In the morning, it's medicine....It's a terrifying problem, Nat, because if it's dawn, you're dead. The bars are closed and the liquor stores don't open until nine o'clock and you can't last until nine o'clock. Or maybe Sunday, that's the worst. No liquor stores at all, and you guys wouldn't open a bar, not until one o'clock. Why? WHY, Nat?
Don: I can't cut it short. I'm on that merry-go-round. You gotta ride it all the way. Round and round until that blasted music wears itself out and the thing dies down and comes to a stop...At night, the stuff's a drink. In the morning, it's medicine....It's a terrifying problem, Nat, because if it's dawn, you're dead. The bars are closed and the liquor stores don't open until nine o'clock and you can't last until nine o'clock. Or maybe Sunday, that's the worst. No liquor stores at all, and you guys wouldn't open a bar, not until one o'clock. Why? WHY, Nat?
View Quote
Gloria: A fella called me up about him. Wants me to show him the town.
Nat: Like Grant's Tomb, for instance?
Gloria: But death.
Nat: Ain't it amazin' how many guys come down from Albany just to see Grant's Tomb?
Gloria: [To Don] Sometimes I wish you came from Albany.
Don: Yeah? Where would you take me?
Gloria: Lots of places. The Music Hall, then The New Yorker roof, maybe.
Don: There is now being presented in the theatre on Forty-Fourth Street the uncut version of Hamlet. Now I see us as heading out for that. Do you know Hamlet?
Gloria: I know Forty-Fourth Street.
Don: I'd like to get your interpretation of Hamlet's character.
Gloria: I'd like to give it to you.
Nat: Like Grant's Tomb, for instance?
Gloria: But death.
Nat: Ain't it amazin' how many guys come down from Albany just to see Grant's Tomb?
Gloria: [To Don] Sometimes I wish you came from Albany.
Don: Yeah? Where would you take me?
Gloria: Lots of places. The Music Hall, then The New Yorker roof, maybe.
Don: There is now being presented in the theatre on Forty-Fourth Street the uncut version of Hamlet. Now I see us as heading out for that. Do you know Hamlet?
Gloria: I know Forty-Fourth Street.
Don: I'd like to get your interpretation of Hamlet's character.
Gloria: I'd like to give it to you.
View Quote
Don: Pour it softly, pour it gently, and pour it to the brim.
Nat: There are a lot of bars on Third Avenue. Do me a favor, will ya? Get out of here and buy it somewhere else...I don't like you much. What's the idea of pullin' her [Gloria's] leg? You know you're not going to take her out...You're drunk and you're just makin' with the mouth...I know the dame, the lady, I mean. I don't like what you're doin' to her, either...You should have seen her come in here last night looking for ya. Her eyes all rainy, and her mascara all washed away...That's an awful high-class young lady...How the heck did she ever get mixed up with a guy who sops it up like you do?
Nat: There are a lot of bars on Third Avenue. Do me a favor, will ya? Get out of here and buy it somewhere else...I don't like you much. What's the idea of pullin' her [Gloria's] leg? You know you're not going to take her out...You're drunk and you're just makin' with the mouth...I know the dame, the lady, I mean. I don't like what you're doin' to her, either...You should have seen her come in here last night looking for ya. Her eyes all rainy, and her mascara all washed away...That's an awful high-class young lady...How the heck did she ever get mixed up with a guy who sops it up like you do?
View Quote
Wick: You might as well hear the family scandal. I drink. Don thinks I drink too much. I had to promise him to go on the wagon.
Don: Thanks very much for your Philadelphia story, Wick, nice try.
Don: Thanks very much for your Philadelphia story, Wick, nice try.
View Quote
Helen: ...they could be worse. After all, you're not an embezzler or a murderer. You drink too much and that's not fatal...There must be a reason why you drink, Don. The right doctor could find it.
Don: Look, I'm way ahead of the right doctor. I know the reason. The reason is me - what I am, or rather what I'm not. What I wanted to become and didn't.
Helen: What is it you want to be so much that you're not?
Don: A writer. It's silly, isn't it? You know, in college, I passed for a genius. They couldn't get out the college magazine without one of my stories. Boy, was I hot! Hemingway stuff. I reached my peak when I was nineteen. Sold a piece to The Atlantic Monthly. Reprinted in the Reader's Digest...My mother bought me a brand-new typewriter and I moved right in on New York. Well, the first thing I wrote - that didn't quite come off. And the second I dropped - the public wasn't ready for that. I started a third and a fourth, only by then, somebody began to look over my shoulder and whisper in a thin, clear voice like the E string on a violin. 'Don Birnam,' he whispered, 'It's not good enough, not that way. How about a couple of drinks just to set it on its feet, huh?' So I had a couple. Oh what a great idea that was! That made all the difference. Suddenly, I could see the whole thing. The tragic sweep of the great novel beautifully proportioned. But before I could really grab it and throw it down on paper, the drinks would wear off and everything would be gone like a mirage. Then there was despair, and a drink to counter-balance despair, and then one to counter-balance the counter-balance. I'd sit in front of that typewriter trying to squeeze out one page that was half-way decent and that guy would pop up again...the other Don Birnam. There are two of us, you know. Don the drunk and Don the writer. And the drunk would say to the writer, 'Come on, you idiot. Let's get some good out of that portable. Let's hock it. Let's take it to that pawn shop over on Third Avenue. It's always good for ten dollars.' Another drink, another binge, another bender, another spree. Such humorous words. I've tried to break away from that guy a lot of times, but no good. You know, once I even got myself a gun and some bullets. I was gonna do it on my thirtieth birthday. Here are the bullets. The gun went for three quarts of whiskey. That other Don wanted us to have a drink first. He always wants us to have a drink first. The flop suicide of a flop writer.
Wick: All right, maybe you're not a writer. Why don't you do something else?
Don: Sure, take a nice job, public accountant, real estate salesman. I haven't the guts, Helen. Most men lead lives of quiet desperation. I can't take 'quiet desperation.'
Helen: But you are a writer. You have every quality for it - imagination, wit, pity.
Don: Come on, let's face reality. I'm thirty-three. I'm living on the charity of my brother. Room and board free. Fifty cents a week for cigarettes and an occasional ticket to a show or a concert - all out of the bigness of his heart. And it is a big heart and a patient one...I've never done anything, I'm not doing anything, I never will do anything. Zero, zero, zero! Look Helen, do yourself a favor. Go on, clear out.
Helen: I'm gonna fight, and fight and fight...
Don: Look, I'm way ahead of the right doctor. I know the reason. The reason is me - what I am, or rather what I'm not. What I wanted to become and didn't.
Helen: What is it you want to be so much that you're not?
Don: A writer. It's silly, isn't it? You know, in college, I passed for a genius. They couldn't get out the college magazine without one of my stories. Boy, was I hot! Hemingway stuff. I reached my peak when I was nineteen. Sold a piece to The Atlantic Monthly. Reprinted in the Reader's Digest...My mother bought me a brand-new typewriter and I moved right in on New York. Well, the first thing I wrote - that didn't quite come off. And the second I dropped - the public wasn't ready for that. I started a third and a fourth, only by then, somebody began to look over my shoulder and whisper in a thin, clear voice like the E string on a violin. 'Don Birnam,' he whispered, 'It's not good enough, not that way. How about a couple of drinks just to set it on its feet, huh?' So I had a couple. Oh what a great idea that was! That made all the difference. Suddenly, I could see the whole thing. The tragic sweep of the great novel beautifully proportioned. But before I could really grab it and throw it down on paper, the drinks would wear off and everything would be gone like a mirage. Then there was despair, and a drink to counter-balance despair, and then one to counter-balance the counter-balance. I'd sit in front of that typewriter trying to squeeze out one page that was half-way decent and that guy would pop up again...the other Don Birnam. There are two of us, you know. Don the drunk and Don the writer. And the drunk would say to the writer, 'Come on, you idiot. Let's get some good out of that portable. Let's hock it. Let's take it to that pawn shop over on Third Avenue. It's always good for ten dollars.' Another drink, another binge, another bender, another spree. Such humorous words. I've tried to break away from that guy a lot of times, but no good. You know, once I even got myself a gun and some bullets. I was gonna do it on my thirtieth birthday. Here are the bullets. The gun went for three quarts of whiskey. That other Don wanted us to have a drink first. He always wants us to have a drink first. The flop suicide of a flop writer.
Wick: All right, maybe you're not a writer. Why don't you do something else?
Don: Sure, take a nice job, public accountant, real estate salesman. I haven't the guts, Helen. Most men lead lives of quiet desperation. I can't take 'quiet desperation.'
Helen: But you are a writer. You have every quality for it - imagination, wit, pity.
Don: Come on, let's face reality. I'm thirty-three. I'm living on the charity of my brother. Room and board free. Fifty cents a week for cigarettes and an occasional ticket to a show or a concert - all out of the bigness of his heart. And it is a big heart and a patient one...I've never done anything, I'm not doing anything, I never will do anything. Zero, zero, zero! Look Helen, do yourself a favor. Go on, clear out.
Helen: I'm gonna fight, and fight and fight...
View Quote
Helen: Don't you want a drink, Don?
Don: What are you up to?
Helen: Nothing. I'm just ashamed of the way I talk to you - like a narrow-minded, insensitive, small-town teetotaler.
Don: I told you, I don't feel like a drink. Not now.
Helen: Oh come on, Don, just one. I'll have one with you. I'm in no hurry. This is my easy day at the office.
Don: Look Helen, there are a few things I want to put in order before Wick comes.
Helen: Let me stay. Please!
Don: No! I don't want to sound rude, but I'm afraid you'll have to leave now.
Helen: Here, Don. [She hands him a drink glass]
Don: You're very sweet. Goodbye...
Helen: You need this, Don. Drink it. I want you to drink it. I'll get you some more. I'll get you all you want.
Don: What kind of talk is that?
Helen: It's just that I'd rather have you drunk than dead.
Don: Who wants to be dead?
Helen: Stop lying to me.
[He wrestles the gun from her]
Don: 'Cause it's best all around for everybody. For you, for Wick, and for me...Look at it this way, Helen: this business is just a formality. Don Birnam is dead already. He died over this weekend...of a lot of things - of alcohol, of moral anemia, of fear, shame, DT's.
Helen: There were two Dons. You told me so yourself. Don the Drunk and Don the Writer.
Don: Let's not go back to a fancy figure of speech. There's only one Don. He's through...I'm all right. I still have enough strength left.
Helen: I know you have. I can see it. Don't waste it by pulling a trigger, Don.
Don: Oh, let me get it over with. Or do you want me to give you another one of my promises that I never keep?
Helen: I don't want you to give me your promise. I don't want you to give your promise to anybody but Don Birnam.
Don: It's too late. I wouldn't know how to start.
Helen: The only way to start is to stop. There is no cure besides just stopping.
Don: Can't be done.
Helen: Other people have stopped.
Don: People with a purpose, with something to do.
Helen: You've got talent and ambition.
Don: Talent, ambition. That's dead long ago. That's drowned. That's drifting around in the bloated belly of a lake of alcohol.
Helen: No, it isn't. You still have it.
Don: Quit trying to stall me, Helen, it's too late. There's no more writing left in me. It's gone. What do you expect - a miracle?
Helen: Yes, yes, yes - if I could just make you...
[the buzzer sounds]
Wick: I found this floating around on the Nile. She writes pretty good. I oiled her up a little. And I didn't oil her up so you can hock her.
Helen: Someone somewhere sent it back - why? Because he means you to stay alive. Because he wants you to write. I didn't ask for a big miracle.
Don: What are you up to?
Helen: Nothing. I'm just ashamed of the way I talk to you - like a narrow-minded, insensitive, small-town teetotaler.
Don: I told you, I don't feel like a drink. Not now.
Helen: Oh come on, Don, just one. I'll have one with you. I'm in no hurry. This is my easy day at the office.
Don: Look Helen, there are a few things I want to put in order before Wick comes.
Helen: Let me stay. Please!
Don: No! I don't want to sound rude, but I'm afraid you'll have to leave now.
Helen: Here, Don. [She hands him a drink glass]
Don: You're very sweet. Goodbye...
Helen: You need this, Don. Drink it. I want you to drink it. I'll get you some more. I'll get you all you want.
Don: What kind of talk is that?
Helen: It's just that I'd rather have you drunk than dead.
Don: Who wants to be dead?
Helen: Stop lying to me.
[He wrestles the gun from her]
Don: 'Cause it's best all around for everybody. For you, for Wick, and for me...Look at it this way, Helen: this business is just a formality. Don Birnam is dead already. He died over this weekend...of a lot of things - of alcohol, of moral anemia, of fear, shame, DT's.
Helen: There were two Dons. You told me so yourself. Don the Drunk and Don the Writer.
Don: Let's not go back to a fancy figure of speech. There's only one Don. He's through...I'm all right. I still have enough strength left.
Helen: I know you have. I can see it. Don't waste it by pulling a trigger, Don.
Don: Oh, let me get it over with. Or do you want me to give you another one of my promises that I never keep?
Helen: I don't want you to give me your promise. I don't want you to give your promise to anybody but Don Birnam.
Don: It's too late. I wouldn't know how to start.
Helen: The only way to start is to stop. There is no cure besides just stopping.
Don: Can't be done.
Helen: Other people have stopped.
Don: People with a purpose, with something to do.
Helen: You've got talent and ambition.
Don: Talent, ambition. That's dead long ago. That's drowned. That's drifting around in the bloated belly of a lake of alcohol.
Helen: No, it isn't. You still have it.
Don: Quit trying to stall me, Helen, it's too late. There's no more writing left in me. It's gone. What do you expect - a miracle?
Helen: Yes, yes, yes - if I could just make you...
[the buzzer sounds]
Wick: I found this floating around on the Nile. She writes pretty good. I oiled her up a little. And I didn't oil her up so you can hock her.
Helen: Someone somewhere sent it back - why? Because he means you to stay alive. Because he wants you to write. I didn't ask for a big miracle.
View Quote
Don: [describing his book] About a messed-up life, about a man and a woman and a bottle. About nightmares, horrors, humiliations, all the things I want to forget.
Helen: Put it all down on paper. Get rid of it that way. Tell it all to whom it may concern. And it concerns so many people, Don...Of course, you couldn't write the beginning 'cause you didn't know the ending. Only now - only now you know the ending.
Helen: Put it all down on paper. Get rid of it that way. Tell it all to whom it may concern. And it concerns so many people, Don...Of course, you couldn't write the beginning 'cause you didn't know the ending. Only now - only now you know the ending.