1st Interviewer: Mr. Murphy, do you mean that you lied on your application?
Spud: No! Uh. Yes. Only to get my foot in the door. Showing initiative and that like.
1st Interviewer: But you were referred here by the department of employment, there was no need for you to get your "foot in the door," as you put it.
Spud: Ehhh... cool. Whatever you say, I'm sorry. You're the man. The dude in the chair.

Phew! I haven't felt that good since Archie Gemmill scored against Holland in 1978!

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton

[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

The downside of coming off junk was I knew I would need to mix with my friends again in a state of full consciousness. It was awful. They reminded me so much of myself, I could hardly bear to look at them.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton

We called him Mother Superior on account of the length of his habit.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Never again, Swanney. I'm off the scag.
Swanney: Are you serious?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Yeah, no more. I'm finished with that shite.
Swanney: Well, it's up to you, man.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Gonna get it right this time. Gonna get it sorted out. Gonna get off it for good.
Swanney: I've heard that one before.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: The Sick Boy method?
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.

Sick Boy: Say something Mark.
[shouting]
Sick Boy: Fucking say something, huh?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: I'm cooking up.

Brilliant gold taps, virginal white marble, a seat carved from ebony, a cistern full of chanel number five, and a flunky handing me pieces of raw silk toilet roll. But under the circumstances I'll settle for anywhere.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton

In a thousand years, there will be no men and women, just wankers, and that's fine by me.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: [narrating] Take the best orgasm you've ever had... multiply it by a thousand, and you're still nowhere near it.
Allison: It beats any meat injection. That beats any fucking cock in the world.

[narrating] I wished that I'd gone down instead of Spud. Here I was surrounded by my family and my so-called mates and I've never felt so alone. Never in all my puff. Since I was on remand, they've had me on this program, this state sponsored addiction. Three sickly sweet doses of methadone a day instead of smack. But it's never enough. And at the moment it's nowhere near enough. I took all three this morning and now I've got eighteen hours to go until my next shot. I've got sweat on my back like a layer of frost. I need to visit the Mother Superior for one hit. One final hit to get us over this long, hard day.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton

We would have injected vitamin C if only they had made it illegal!

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton

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