Trainspotting

Trainspotting quotes

28 total quotes (ID: 590)

Allison
Diane
Renton


Begbie: Did you bring the cards?
Sick Boy: What?
Begbie: The cards, the last thing I told you was to mind the cards!
Sick Boy: Well, I've not brought them.
Begbie: It's ****ing boring after a while without the cards.
Sick Boy: I'm sorry.
Begbie: Bit ****ing late, like.
Sick Boy: Why didn't you bring them?
Begbie: 'CAUSE I ****ING TOLD YOU TO BRING THEM, YOU DOSS ****!
Sick Boy: ...Christ.


Begbie: Look, I'm not a ****ing buftie, and that's the end of it!
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Well, let's face it, it could've been wonderful.
Begbie: [growls with anger, flicks his cigarette at Renton; he holds him by the neck] ****ing listen to me, you piece of junkie shit. A joke's a ****ing joke. You mention that again, and I'll cut you up! [he pins the knife to the wall, close to Renton's midsection]

Diane: Hello there, Mark. What are you doing? You didn't tell me you were a thief.
Spud: Hey, go easy, lady. The boy's got a habit to support.
Sick Boy: Opium doesn't just grow on trees, you know.

Sick Boy: It's certainly a phenomenon in all walks of life.
Mark: What do you mean?
Sick Boy: Well, at one time, you've got it, and then you lose it, and it's gone forever. All walks of life: George Best, for example. Had it, lost it. Or David Bowie, or Lou Reed.
Mark: Lou Reed, some of his solo stuff's not bad.
Sick Boy: No, it's not bad, but it's not great either. And in your heart you kind of know that although it sounds all right, it's actually just shite.
Mark: So who else?
Sick Boy: Charlie Nicholas, David Niven, Malcolm McLaren, Elvis Presley . . .
Mark: OK, OK, so what's the point you're trying to make?
Sick Boy: All I'm trying to do, Mark, is help you understand that The Name of The Rose is merely a blip on an otherwise uninterrupted downward trajectory.
Mark: What about The Untouchables?
Sick Boy: I don't rate that at all.
Mark: Despite the Academy Award?
Sick Boy: That means **** all. It's a sympathy vote.
Mark: Right. So we all get old and then we can't hack it anymore. Is that it?
Sick Boy: Yeah.
Mark: That's your theory?
Sick Boy: Yeah. Beautifully ****ing illustrated.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Gonna get it right this time. Gonna get it sorted out, get off it for good.
Swanney: I've heard that one before.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: The Sick Boy method.
[flash on Sick Boy on the nod] Swanney: Well, it nearly worked for him, hey.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Well, he's always been lacking in moral fiber.
Swanney: He knows a lot about Sean Connery.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: That's hardly a substitute.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: What's on the menu this evening, Sir?
Mother Superior: Your favorite dish.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Excellent.
Mother Superior: Your usual table, Sir.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Oh, why thank you.
Mother Superior: Would Sir care to pay for his bill in advance?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: No. Stick it on my tab.
Mother Superior: Ah, regret to inform, sir, credit limit was reached and breached quite some time ago.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Oh, well in that case...
[hands him some cash] Mother Superior: Ah, hard currency! Thank you, Sir! Can't be too careful these days! Would Sir care for a starter of some garlic bread perhaps?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: No, thank you. I will proceed directly to the intravenous injection of hard drugs, please.

Sick Boy: [Sean Connery accent] Do you shee the beasht? Have you got it in your shights?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: [aiming the pellet gun at a dog] Clear enough, Missh Moneypenny! This should preshent no shignificant problemsh!
[shoots the dog which starts attacking its owner] Sick Boy: For a vegetarian, Rents, you're a ****in' EVIL shot!

At, or around this time, Spud, Sick Boy and I made a healthy, informed, democratic decision to get back on heroin as soon as possible.

Begbie didn't do drugs either. He just did people. That's what he got off on; his own sensory addiction.

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a ****ing big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of ****ing fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the **** you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing ****ing junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, ****ed-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?

Do you find that this approach usually works, or, let me guess, you've never tried it before. In fact, you don't normally approach girls, am I right? The truth is that you're a quiet, sensitive type, but if I'm prepared to take a chance I might just get to know the inner you: witty, adventurous, passionate, loving, loyal, a little bit crazy, a little bit bad, but, hey, don't us girls just love that?

I fantasize about a massive, pristine convenience. Brilliant gold taps, virginal white marble, a seat carved from ebony, a cistern full of Chanel Number 5, and a flunky handing me pieces of raw silk toilet roll. But under the circumstances I'll settle for anywhere.

It beats any meat injection. That beats any ****ing **** in the world.

It seems, however, I really am the luckiest guy in the world. Several years of addiction right in the middle of an epidemic, surrounded by the living dead. But not me. I'm negative. It's official. And once the pain goes away, that's when the real battle starts. Depression, boredom . . . You feel so ****ing low, you want to ****ing top yourself.

It's SHITE being Scottish! We're the lowest of the low, the scum of the ****ing earth, the most wretched, miserable, servile, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilization. Some people hate the English, I don't. They're just wankers. We, on the other hand, are colonized by wankers. We can't even find a decent culture to be colonized by. We are ruled by effete arseholes. It's a shite state of affairs to be in, Tommy! And all the fresh air in the world won't make any ****ing difference!

Living like this, is a full-time business.