Ann O'Neill: This Bond fellow, I don't like him one bit. He's a sadistic brute.
Ian Fleming: I thought that was your type.
Ian Fleming: It's not bloody literature. It's a pot boiler. Just words, nothing more. Make believe.
Ann O'Neill: Really? Is that why he has your golf handicap and taste in vodka?
Ian Fleming: He's not me.
Ann O'Neill: You as you would like to be. Your fantasy. Is that who he is?