The Notebooks of Raymond Chandler, p. 74

I am no superb technician or inexorable scene-squeezer like Billy Wilder. I am the man who produces the raw material on which the superb technique can be exercised, the man who writes the scenes that wait to be squeezed. If I were more, I should also be less, and the more I should be would, from my point of view, not be worth the less I should be.

The Notebooks of Raymond Chandler, p. 73

Would it surprise...that the screenwriter regards the camera as his principal character, and that if he did not write a part for that character he would not be writing a screenplay? He doesn't write in camera movements for the benefit of the director or the cameraman, but for his own benefit: so that he may have some knowledge of the acting length of the script; so that he may leave out of his dialogue those effects which the camera can better achieve without words; so that he may have some feeling for the rhythm and pace and movement of the film across the screen. The writer knows perfectly well that the director will not follow his camera directions literally.

The Notebooks of Raymond Chandler, p. 70

There is probably no facet of American life which you can accurately portray, but you can photograph Clark Gable in his underpants, you can dissolve out on an adulterous kiss, and you can be more obscene by implication than the forthright smut talk of soldiers in a barrack room. The terminal result of this straightjacket Grundyism is intellectual lethargy and paralysis of the imagination. What's the use of thinking up strong dramatic stories or scenes when you know in advance they are going to turn out as tame as Prudence Penny's recipe for baked custard?

The Notebooks of Raymond Chandler, p. 29

"Would you convey my compliments to the purist who reads your proofs and tell him or her that I write a sort of broken-down patois which is something like the way a Swiss waiter talks, and that when I split an infinitive, God damn it, I split it so it will stay split, and when I interrupt the velvety smoothness of my more or less literate syntax with a few sudden words of bar-room vernacular, that is done with the eyes wide open and the mind relaxed but attentive."

There's also a really great poem that follows this that is totally worth reading, worth copying, worth hanging up in your room. Really, it's great. Go read it! It's too long for me to type up here.

Farewell, My Lovely, 160 & 164

'Listen, Hemingway, don't repeat everything I say,' I said. ...
'A gag,' I said, 'An old, old gag.'
'Who is this Hemingway person at all?'
'A guy that keeps saying the same thing over and over until you begin to believe it must be good.'

Down These Mean Streets a Man Must Go, 108

"by literature I mean quite simply any sort of writing at all that reaches a sufficient intensity of performance to glow with its own heat." - Chandler