Hm, the beacon of the press. In the hell to which all journalists must descend when they die, Mr. Wiggam, we shall sit at red hot ...desks with quills of fire in our hand and spend eternity on eternity writing about the salubrious weather of that region. Let us serve our apprenticeship here thoroughly and intelligently.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Mr. Wiggam, I want you to change the policy of The Clarion. I want you to write a story I should have written myself long ago. I w...ant you to tell the people of San Francisco that no city can exist without law and order. Write a story about that flag, write about what verifies and brings a promise of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. There are some people in this town who don't seem to know that. Let The Clarion tell them.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
There they are at last, Miss Rutledge. The will-o-the-wisps with plagues of fortune. San Francisco, the latest newborn of a great ...republic.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Newspapermen are either drunkards or idealists, Miss Rutledge. I'm afraid I'm both. But however soiled his hands, the journalist g...oes staggering through life with a beacon raised.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Love's the only thing I've thought of or read about since I was knee-high. That's what I always dreamed of, of meeting somebody an...d falling in love. And when that remarkable thing happened, I was going to recite poetry to her for hours about how her heart's an angel's wing and her hair the strings of a heavenly harp. Instead I got drunk and hollered at her and called her a harpy.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Man with lantern: Who are you? Captain: The Flying Cloud. 220 days out of New York and 50 days trying to find your blasted ha...rbor. Man with lantern: Nobody asked you to come. Captain: Got anything in this hog-end of the world except fog? Man with lantern: Sure, we've got gold, fountains of gold.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
I see a lot of fog and a few lights. I like it when life's hidden. It gives you a chance to imagine nice things, nicer than they a...re.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Swan/Mary Rutledge: Oh no, no. I'm not running away. I came here to get something, and I'm going to get it. Col. Cobb: Yes, b...ut San Francisco is no place for a woman. Swan: Why not? I'm not afraid. I like the fog. I like this new world. I like the noise of something happening.... I'm tired of dreaming, Colonel Cobb. I'm staying. I'm staying and holding out my hands for gold--bright, yellow gold.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Swan/Mary Rutledge: Listen, listen to them. Men like to yell, don't they? They imagine they are millionaires already. Col. Co...bb: More than that. They've all left lives behind them they didn't like. They all dream of being reborn in the new land. Swan: Do they? Or do they dream of gold? Col. Cobb: No, no, Miss Rutledge. Behind that fog, lies not only sand filled with gold, but a new empire for men of vision. Swan: Men of vision. Oh, I love the fine names men give each other to hide their greed and lust for adventure.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Nations like the Cuban and the Swiss Can never hope to wage a Global Mission.... No Holy Wars for them. The most the small Can ever give us is a nuisance brawl.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »