Harvey and I sit in the bars and have a drink or two, play the jukebox. And soon the faces of all the other people, they turn toward mine and they smile. They’re saying, “We don’t know your name, mister, but you’re a very nice fellow.” Harvey and I warm ourselves in all these golden moments. We’ve entered as strangers. Soon we have friends. And they come over and they sit with us, they drink with us they talk to us. And they tell about the big, terrible things they’ve done, and the big, wonderful things they’ll do. Their hopes and their regrets, and their loves and their hates, all very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. And then I introduce them to Harvey. And he’s bigger and grander than anything they offer me. And when they leave, they leave impressed. The same people seldom come back, but that’s envy, my dear. There’s a little bit of envy in the best of us. And that’s too bad, isn’t it?
HARVEY (1950) dir. Henry Koster