Film Quotes by Michael Redgrave

Lt. Stephen Harley: [as Christmas of 1940 approaches] Last Christmas I had my first concert. It was where I met Caroline.
Capt. Karel Hasek, alias Geoffrey Mitchell: Last Christmas I was in Dachau Concentration Camp. Christmas Eve a new batch of prisoners came in. One of them brought me news of my family. They'd been caught giving food to a Polish Jew. They were taken out and shot. My father, my mother, all of them.

Peter Penrose: I'm afraid I'm strictly amateur.
Flight Lt. David Archdale: There aren't any amateurs and professionals anymore, just good pilots and bad pilots. The good pilots stay alive and the bad ones don't. And that's not true anymore either.

Capt. Jim Grayson: I wonder how Jane is getting on these days?
Capt. Karel Hasek, alias Geoffrey Mitchell: Who's Jane? Your girl?
Capt. Jim Grayson: No, no. *The* Jane. The strip in the "Mirror".
Capt. Karel Hasek, alias Geoffrey Mitchell: [realizing he's made a mistake] Oh, yes, the strip in the mirror.

Capt. Karel Hasek, alias Geoffrey Mitchell: [writing a letter to Celia in November of 1942] "Our third winter is approaching, bringing with it a new enemy. It is not the duration but the indefiniteness of duration. For if a man knew the length of his sentence, he could plan accordingly. Afterwards in our memories, we shall relive only the sunny days. The pleasant scenes. The freedom of mind, and the comradeship. We shall forget the wet days... the wet weeks... Those days when it seemed an effort to do nothing and our bunks were the only release. Deep down in the hearts of all of us there dwells a lonely ache, a desperate yearning for those we love, and a fear. A fear of becoming forgotten men. Write to me again soon, Celia. You never know how great the comfort is that your letters bring. They give me strength, and hope, and happiness. You will never know how much they mean to me."

Flight Lt. David Archdale: [reciting] Less said the better, the bill unpaid, dead letter. No roses at the end of Smith, my friend. Last words don't matter, for there are none to flatter. Words will not fill the post of Smith the ghost. For Smith, our brother, only son of loving mother, the ocean lifted, stirred, leaving no word.

Gilbert: [wearing a deerstalker and brandishing a calabash pipe] Let's marshal the facts over a pipeful of Baker Street shag.

Gilbert: Can I help?
Iris Henderson: Only by going away.
Gilbert: No, no, no, no. My father always taught me, never desert a lady in trouble. He even carried that as far as marrying Mother.

Gilbert: Come on, sit down, take it easy. What's the trouble?
Iris Henderson: If you must know, something fell on my head.
Gilbert: When, infancy?

Gilbert: I'm about as popular as a dose of strychnine.

Gilbert: What was she wearing? Scotch tweeds wasn't it?
Iris Henderson: Oatmeal tweeds.
Gilbert: I knew it had something to do with porridge.