Secret Window Quotes
A writer is accused for plagiarism by a strange man, who then starts haunting him for "justice."
Mort: [his conscience] Why'd you put it on?
Mort: I don't know.
Mort: Maybe he wanted you to.
Mort: Why would he want me to put his hat on?
Mort: Maybe he wants you to...
Mort: Maybe he wants me to what?
Mort: To get confused.
Mort: Oh, I'm already confused, Pilgrim. Plenty confused. So don't talk to me about confusion.
Mort: Wait a minute. Back up just a sec. What about that?
Mort: What about what?
Mort: Well, "pilgrim." "Shooter's bay," and the half a dozen other details you've chosen to ignore.
Mort: You know what? You're nuts. I don't need to listen to this shit from you.
Mort: Are all these things coincidences?
Mort: I'm wearing his bruises, aren't I? Aren't I?
Mort: Are you?
Mort: Well...
[Mort checks his arms and the bruises are gone]
Mort: This doesn't make any sense.
Mort: Would you like to hear something that does make sense? Call the police. Call Dave Newsome, tell me to come here this second and lock you up before you can do any more damage.
Mort: I'm gonna get a knife and cut you out of me.
Mort: Before you kill anyone else.
Mort: I didn't kill anybody.
Mort: You had a gun.
Mort: Wasn't loaded.
Mort: Really?
Mort: No.
Mort: You almost killed them. You wanted to
Mort: I don't know.
Mort: Maybe he wanted you to.
Mort: Why would he want me to put his hat on?
Mort: Maybe he wants you to...
Mort: Maybe he wants me to what?
Mort: To get confused.
Mort: Oh, I'm already confused, Pilgrim. Plenty confused. So don't talk to me about confusion.
Mort: Wait a minute. Back up just a sec. What about that?
Mort: What about what?
Mort: Well, "pilgrim." "Shooter's bay," and the half a dozen other details you've chosen to ignore.
Mort: You know what? You're nuts. I don't need to listen to this shit from you.
Mort: Are all these things coincidences?
Mort: I'm wearing his bruises, aren't I? Aren't I?
Mort: Are you?
Mort: Well...
[Mort checks his arms and the bruises are gone]
Mort: This doesn't make any sense.
Mort: Would you like to hear something that does make sense? Call the police. Call Dave Newsome, tell me to come here this second and lock you up before you can do any more damage.
Mort: I'm gonna get a knife and cut you out of me.
Mort: Before you kill anyone else.
Mort: I didn't kill anybody.
Mort: You had a gun.
Mort: Wasn't loaded.
Mort: Really?
Mort: No.
Mort: You almost killed them. You wanted to
John Shooter: You stole my story.
Mort: I'm... I'm sorry, do I... I don't believe I know you.
John Shooter: I know that, that doesn't matter, I know you Mr. Rainey, that's what matters. You stole my story.
[holding out his manuscript to Mort]
Mort: You're mistaken. I don't read manuscripts.
John Shooter: You read this one already. You stole it.
Mort: I can assure you...
John Shooter: I know you can. I know that. I don't want to be assured.
Mort: If you want to talk to somebody about some grievance you feel you may have, you can call my literary agent.
John Shooter: This is between you and me.
[sees Chico under him]
John Shooter: We don't need no outsiders, Mr. Rainey.
Mort: I don't like being accused of plagiarism, if that is in fact what you are accusing me of. Chico, inside.
[Chico goes back inside]
John Shooter: I don't blame you for not liking it but you did it.
Mort: You're gonna have to leave. I have nothing more to say.
John Shooter: Yeah, I'll go. We'll talk more later.
[hands the manuscript to Mort to take it]
Mort: I'm not taking that.
John Shooter: Won't do you no good to play games with me, Mr. Rainey. This has got to be settled.
Mort: So far as I'm concerned it is.
Mort: I'm... I'm sorry, do I... I don't believe I know you.
John Shooter: I know that, that doesn't matter, I know you Mr. Rainey, that's what matters. You stole my story.
[holding out his manuscript to Mort]
Mort: You're mistaken. I don't read manuscripts.
John Shooter: You read this one already. You stole it.
Mort: I can assure you...
John Shooter: I know you can. I know that. I don't want to be assured.
Mort: If you want to talk to somebody about some grievance you feel you may have, you can call my literary agent.
John Shooter: This is between you and me.
[sees Chico under him]
John Shooter: We don't need no outsiders, Mr. Rainey.
Mort: I don't like being accused of plagiarism, if that is in fact what you are accusing me of. Chico, inside.
[Chico goes back inside]
John Shooter: I don't blame you for not liking it but you did it.
Mort: You're gonna have to leave. I have nothing more to say.
John Shooter: Yeah, I'll go. We'll talk more later.
[hands the manuscript to Mort to take it]
Mort: I'm not taking that.
John Shooter: Won't do you no good to play games with me, Mr. Rainey. This has got to be settled.
Mort: So far as I'm concerned it is.
Mort: I don't wanna call her. I want to go to sleep. I want to take a nap. Okay. No nap. I give her a call about the magazine. I go write some crap for a couple of hours and then I get to take a nap, right? Chico.
[beating his neck]
Mort: Chi-i-i-i-co-o-o-o, don't be disco-o-o-oura-a-a-aged. All right, go ahead and be discouraged, you blind bastard, see if I care.
[beating his neck]
Mort: Chi-i-i-i-co-o-o-o, don't be disco-o-o-oura-a-a-aged. All right, go ahead and be discouraged, you blind bastard, see if I care.
John Shooter: [Mort tries to whack Shooter with a shovel, but Shooter grabs the shovel and uses it to shove Mort against the wall] Do you wanna wake up from one o' your stupid naps 'n find Amy nailed to yer garbage bin? Or turn on the radio one mornin' and find out that she came off secon' best in a match with the chainsaw you keep out 'n the shed? Do ya?
John Shooter: [Mort wakes up from having have fainted. He looks at his watch with his vision blurred] Quarter past two.
[Mort gasps]
John Shooter: You been out 'bout three hours.
[Mort tries to get up, but falls over on his right leg]
John Shooter: Your leg's sleepin'. You laid on the damn thing. I wouldn't go very far if I was you!
[Mort gasps]
John Shooter: You been out 'bout three hours.
[Mort tries to get up, but falls over on his right leg]
John Shooter: Your leg's sleepin'. You laid on the damn thing. I wouldn't go very far if I was you!
John Shooter: [Mort finds Shooter at the end of the path] You read it?
Mort: I did.
John Shooter: I imagine it rang a bell, didn't it?
Mort: Oh, it certainly did. When'd you write it?
John Shooter: I thought you'd ask that.
Mort: Well, sure. I mean, that's the whole point, isn't it? When two writers show up with the same story, it's all about who wrote the words first. Wouldn't you say that's true?
John Shooter: I suppose I would. I suppose that's also why I came all the way up here from Miss'ippi.
Mort: I did.
John Shooter: I imagine it rang a bell, didn't it?
Mort: Oh, it certainly did. When'd you write it?
John Shooter: I thought you'd ask that.
Mort: Well, sure. I mean, that's the whole point, isn't it? When two writers show up with the same story, it's all about who wrote the words first. Wouldn't you say that's true?
John Shooter: I suppose I would. I suppose that's also why I came all the way up here from Miss'ippi.
