Bryan: I don't think a seventeen-year-old should be traveling alone.
Kim: I'm not gonna be alone.
Bryan: Two seventeen-year-olds.
Kim: Amanda's nineteen!
Bryan: How about this? How about if I go along? You won't even know I'm there. I'm very good at being invisible.
Lenore: As you so amply demonstrated for the rest of her life.

[narrating] Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking 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 leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday night. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking 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, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton

Aileen: So where's your friends?
Selby: Well... Uh... I'm not...
Aileen: [laughs]
Selby: You're mean!

Wat: Say something about her breasts.
Roland: Yeah, you miss her breasts.
William: Her breasts.
Chaucer: Ye... yes, you... you could, umm... umm... but I... I would tend to look above her breasts, William.
William: Well I... I miss her throat.
Chaucer: Uh, still higher really, toward the heavens.
Kate: The moon at least, her breasts were not that impressive.

Wolverine: Felt like she killed me.
Prof. Charles Francis Xavier: If she held on any longer, she could have.

Took you long enough to get here. Took you ten years to get to my house. Huh, what's the matter? You don't like my house? Does my house stink? That's right-it stinks! I didn't have no favors from you! Don't slum around me. Talkin' about your prime. What about my prime, Mick? At least you had a prime! I didn't have no prime. I didn't have nithin'! Leg's are goin', everything is goin'. Nobody's getting' no nothin'. Guy comes up, offers me a fight. Big deal. Wanna fight the fight? Yeah, I'll fight the big fight. I wouldn't wanna fight. Know what's gonna happen to me? I'm gonna get that! I'm gonna get that! And you wanna be ringside to see it? Do ya? You wanna help me out? Huh? Do you wana see me get my face kicked in? Leg's ain't workin', nothing's workin', but they go, "Go on, fight the champ." Yeah, I'll fight him. Get my face kicked in. And you come around here. You wanna move in here with me? Come on in! It's a nice house! Real nice. Come on in and move. It stinks! This whole place stinks. You wanna help me out? Well, help me out! Come on, help me out. I'm standin' here!


Bill: Now... When it comes to you, and us, I have a few unanswered questions. So, before this tale of bloody revenge reaches its climax, I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to tell me the truth. However, therein lies a dilemma. Because, when it comes to the subject of me, I believe you are truly and utterly incapable of telling the truth, especially to me, and least of all, to yourself. And, when it comes to the subject of me, I am truly and utterly incapable of believing anything you say.
The Bride: How do you suppose we solve this dilemma?
Bill: Well, it just so happens I have a solution.
[he shoots The Bride with a dart filled with Truth Serum]
Bill: Gotcha!
The Bride: Goddamn! What the fuck did you just shoot me with?
Bill: My greatest invention. Or at least, my favorite one.
[she reaches for the dart]
Bill: Don't touch it, or I'll stick another one right in your cheek.

And you really believe that just because you publish children's books, people care about my reputation? You can have pictures of me wearing nipple rings, butt fucking Captain Kangaroo. The only thing they care about is the stock and whether that stock is up or down!


Landon: What are you doing here?
Jamie: I could ask you the same question.
Landon: Do you normally walk alone in cemeteries at night?
Jamie: Maybe.

Sit down and shut up, will ya? Try not to live up to all my expectations.

FBI Agent Polk

Jane Smith: I told you to wait for my signal, you didn't wait for my signal.
John Smith: Well, I improvised.
Jane Smith: You deviated from the plan.
John Smith: The plan was flawed.
Jane Smith: The plan was not flawed.
John Smith: Anal.
Jane Smith: *Organized.*
John Smith: Jane, 90% of this job is instinct.
Jane Smith: Well, your instinct set off *every* alarm in the building!
John Smith: My instinct got the job done. It may not have been the Jane show...
Jane Smith: No, it was the John show: it was half-assed. Like Christmas, like our anniversary, like the time you forgot to bring my mother's birthday present.
John Smith: Your *fake* mother's birthday present.
Jane Smith: The point is, you are *always* the first to break team.
John Smith: You don't want a team, you want a servant for hire.
Jane Smith: I want someone I can count on.
John Smith: [sigh] Jane, there's no error around you anymore.
Jane Smith: [pleased] Oh. OK, what is that supposed to mean?
John Smith: That means there's no room for mistakes, no mistakes whatsoever. No spontaneity. Who can answer to that?
Jane Smith: Well, you don't have to. Because this isn't even a real marriage.
[brooding silence]
Benjamin: [locked up in the back of the van, in a bewildered voice] *Who are you people?*
Jane Smith, John Smith: [yelling] Shut up!

I want you outta here instamatically.


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