- F. Holmes Harmon: [Hearing someone come in but not turning around] If you're the janitor, come back later. If you're anyone else, there's a window at the end of the hall, jump out of it.
- Marcel De Lange: I see here in the evening paper that a woman was murdered in the neighborhood last night.
- The Creeper: [Flatly] Yeah.
- Marcel De Lange: Yes, her spine was snapped. I've often wondered why a man would want to snap a woman's spine.
- The Creeper: [Flatly] She screamed.
- Marcel De Lange: An annoying habit on the part of women... screaming.
- The Creeper: [Looking at the spartan meal given to him by De Lange] No meat?
- Marcel De Lange: No money.
- Joan Medford: You know, sometimes I feel sorry for you. You must be very unhappy.
- F. Holmes Harmon: You're wasting your pity. I'm really a very happy fellow. Especially when I'm deflating the egos of artistic pretenders.
- Joan Medford: Steve Morrow is not a pretender. He's honest. And he has talent. And on top of that, he's successful.
- F. Holmes Harmon: Judged by the dollar sign, yes. Unfortunately, the general public's appreciation of art is limited to billboards and magazine covers. The morons wallow in a sea of girls, girls, unbelievably beautiful and well-proportioned girls.
- Joan Medford: Are you saying that Steve should paint ugliness instead of beauty?
- F. Holmes Harmon: I don't say that anyone should do anything. I merely say, as a critic, what he actually does.
- Joan Medford: Then why don't you temper your criticism with the truth? Oh sure, you have a right to say you don't like apple pie. But it's certainly unfair to say that apple pie isn't good.
- F. Holmes Harmon: You're a clever wench, Joan. But we're not talking about apple pie. We're talking about cheesecake. Here, for example, is a little bit of your Mr. Morrow's "art".
- [shows Joan a magazine cover with a bathing suit-clad model]
- Joan Medford: Is that bad?
- F. Holmes Harmon: It's revolting! Did you ever see a girl that perfect?
- Joan Medford: You don't get around much, do you? That's why I feel sorry for you, Holmes. You crawl into your bottle of acid and stay there, dripping vitriol indiscriminately, always destroying.
- Hal Ormiston: [Reading his own review] I devoted my stick of type today to a frank appraisal of the very doubtful talents of a young brush wielder named Steven Morrow.
- Police Lt. Larry Brooks: [Scene change. Review continues being read] You will note that I do not dignify young Morrow with the term artist. He definitely is not an artist in any sense of the word.
- Steven Morrow: [Scene change. Review continues being read] The empty face girls Morrow paints have no more artistic significance than the crazily conceived creations of that well known madman of scattering profession, Marcel De Lange.
- Steven Morrow: [pause. Slams newspaper to the table] Another one. Harmon dies, and another persecute rises to hound me. Am I always to be beaten down by heartless ignorant critics who find strange delight in singling me out as a subject for their cruelty? Why am I not big and strong so I can throttle this man Ormiston? I can see him now, a drink at his elbow, chuckling over his cleverly turned phrases. He has money for food and drink while we must starve. It's unfair, I tell you.
- The Creeper: Where does he live?
- Steven Morrow: [Raises head to look into Creeper's face. Pauses] At the Bagley Terrace, on East 54th Street.
- Hal Ormiston: [Reading his own review] I devoted my stick of type today to a frank appraisal of the very doubtful talents of a young brush wielder named Steven Morrow.
- Police Lt. Larry Brooks: [Scene change. Review continues being read] You will note that I do not dignify young Morrow with the term artist. He definitely is not an artist in any sense of the word.
- Marcel De Lange: [Scene change. Review continues being read] The empty face girls Morrow paints have no more artistic significance than the crazily conceived creations of that well known madman of scattering profession, Marcel De Lange.
- Marcel De Lange: [pause. Slams newspaper to the table] Another one. Harmon dies, and another persecute rises to hound me. Am I always to be beaten down by heartless ignorant critics who find strange delight in singling me out as a subject for their cruelty? Why am I not big and strong so I can throttle this man Ormiston? I can see him now, a drink at his elbow, chuckling over his cleverly turned phrases. He has money for food and drink while we must starve. It's unfair, I tell you.
- The Creeper: Where does he live?
- Marcel De Lange: [Raises head to look into Creeper's face. Pauses] At the Bagley Terrace, on East 54th Street.
