- Henry Miller: [narrating] I am fucking you Tania, so that you'll stay fucked. And if you're afraid of being fucked publicly, I'll fuck you privately. I'll tear off a few hairs from your cunt and paste them on Boris's chin. I will bite into your clitoris and spit out two franc pieces.
- [first lines]
- Henry Miller: This, then, this is not a movie. This is a libel, slander, defamation of character, a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of art, a kick in the pants to God, man, destiny, time, love, beauty, what you will. I'm going to sing for you. A little off-key perhaps, but I will sing. I will sing while you croak. I will dance over your dirty corpse.
- Henry Miller: Could you loan me five francs to take a taxi to St. Lazare? Now, you know Mona. If I'm not there to meet the boat train, she's liable to turn right around and go back.
- Henry Miller: If the lady's any good at all, it's never far from her mind. All you have to do is let *her* know that you know what she's thinking about.
- Mona Miller: What do you ask for in french? I don't know what to ask. Well, I guess Kleenex. They always understand Coca-Cola.
- M. Le Censeur: He go, uh... over the wall.
- Henry Miller: Eh, couldn't he've just gone through the door?
- M. Le Censeur: The door is locked by key. Each night. At ten. To avoid the infiltration of women.
- Henry Miller: [narrating] It began to have an independent existence, for me too. There was Germaine... and there was that rosebush of hers. I liked them separately and I liked them together.
- Carl: [Reading the letter he wrote] You send me golden apples, Irene dear. And gifts of shaggy chestnuts too.
- Henry Miller: She hasn't given you anything has she?
- Carl: No. But I like the word, shaggy.
- Carl: She said she was turning forty. That means fifty... or sixty. It'd be like fucking your own mother.
- Carl: The best thing would be to marry her, and then get a good disease right away. You wouldn't have to worry about laying her and you wouldn't have to worry about the rent either. That's the best solution for a writer. Listen. All I want is a good wheelchair and three meals a day. Then, I'd give them something to read, those pricks.
- [Last lines]
- Henry Miller: [narrating] My thoughts drift out toward the sea, toward the other side, where taking a last look back, I had seen the skyscrapers fading out in a flurry of snowflakes. I see them looming up again, in the same ghostly way as when I left, see the lights creeping through their ribs, and see the whole city spread out from Harlem to the Battery, the streets chocked with ants, the theatres empty. I wonder, in a vague way, whatever happened to my wife. After everything quietly sifted through my head, a great peace came over me. Here, where the river gently winds through the girdle of the hills lies a soil so saturated with the past that however far back the mind roams, one can never detach it from its human background. Christ. Before my eyes, there shimmers such a golden peace that only a neurotic could dream of turning his head away. So quietly flows the Seine, that one hardly notices its presence. It is always there, quiet and unobtrusive, like a great artery running through the human body. In the wonderful peace that falls over me, it seems as if I've climbed to the top of a high mountain. For a little while, I will be able to look around me to take in the meaning of the landscape. Human beings make a strange fauna and flora. From a distance, they appear negligible; close up, they're apt to appear ugly and malicious. More than anything, they need to be surrounded with *sufficient* space. Space even more than time. The sun is setting. I feel this river flowing through me. It's past. It's ancient soil. The changing climate. The hills gently girdle it about. Its course is fixed.
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By what name was Tropico del Cancro (1970) officially released in India in English?
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