The Front Page (1974)

Walter Matthau: Walter Burns

Photos 

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Quotes 

• [last lines] 

  Walter Burns : That train that just left, what's the first stop?

  Telegrapher : Gary, Indiana.

  Walter Burns : All right. Send a message to the police chief at Gary, Indiana. Tell him to meet the midnight train to Philadelphia and arrest one Hildy Johnson.

  Telegrapher : Hildy Johnson?

  Walter Burns : Yeah. Son of a bitch stole my watch.

• Walter Burns : [after unsuccessfully posing as probation officer Otto Fishbein]  Tell Hildy I wish him all the luck in the world, and I mean it, or my name isn't Otto Fishbein.

• Hildebrand 'Hildy' Johnson : Goodbye, Duffy. Watch the diabetes. Walter, it's been fun.

  Duffy : What's he mean by that?

  Walter Burns : He's leaving us. Getting married.

  Duffy : Yeah? That hostess at the Hotsy-Totsy Club?

  Hildebrand 'Hildy' Johnson : You're not even close. Why, this is a very classy dame. Philadephia. Studied to be a concert pianist.

  Walter Burns : Where in the hell would you meet a concert pianist?

  Hildebrand 'Hildy' Johnson : Well, actually, she's a widow. Husband cracked up in a brand-new Packard. Only had 18 miles on it. So, to support herself, she's playing the organ at the Balaban & Katz Theater.

  Walter Burns : The one in the Loop?

  Hildebrand 'Hildy' Johnson : Yeah. We've been dating three months.

  Walter Burns : Jeez, Hildy. why didn't you tell me? Kid, I woulda thrown you a little farewell party...

  Hildebrand 'Hildy' Johnson : Oh, no, no, no! I know your farewell parties! When Ben Hecht was leaving for Hollywood, you slipped a micky in his gin fizz. It took four of us to get on the California Limited.

• Walter Burns : Get yer head back in there, you God Damned turtle!

• Hildebrand 'Hildy' Johnson : I'm going straight. I'm quittin' this racket!

  Walter Burns : You mean you're going to be writing crap like "I'd walk a mile for a camel", or "Quick, Henry, the Flit"?

  Hildebrand 'Hildy' Johnson : You bet! For 150 bucks a week!

  Walter Burns : Jesus, Hildy, you're a newspaper man! Not some faggot writing poetry about brassieres and laxatives.