Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: We called him Mother Superior on account of the length of his habit.

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.

Sick Boy: Honor Blackman, a.k.a. Miss Pussy Galore. What a total fucking misnomer!

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: I chose not to choose life, I choose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons, who needs reasons when you've got heroin?

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: [narrating] 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?" should be ADDED to the end of this speech: "Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: 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 fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit crushing game shows, stuffing junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Phew! I haven't felt that good since Archie Gemmill scored against Holland in 1978!

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.

2nd Interviewer: Mr. Murphy, what attracts you to the leisure industry?
Spud: In a word: pleasure. It's like, my pleasure in other people's leisure.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Relinquishing junk. Stage one, preparation. For this you will need one room which you will not leave. Soothing music. Tomato soup, ten tins of. Mushroom soup, eight tins of, for consumption cold. Ice cream, vanilla, one large tub of. Magnesia, milk of, one bottle. Paracetamol, mouthwash, vitamins. Mineral water, Lucozade, pornography. One mattress. One bucket for urine, one for feces and one for vomitus. One television and one bottle of Valium. Which I've already procured from my mother. Who is, in her own domestic and socially acceptable way also a drug addict. And now I'm ready. All I need is one final hit to soothe the pain while the Valium takes effect.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Excuse me, excuse me. I don't mean to harass you, but I was very impressed with the capable and stylish manner in which you dealt with that situation. And I was thinking to myself, now this girl's special.
Diane: Thanks.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: What's your name?
Diane: Diane.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: And where are you going, Diane?
Diane: I'm going home.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Well, where's that?
Diane: It's where I live.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Great.
Diane: What?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Well, I'll come back with you if you like, but like, I'm not promising anything, you know.
Diane: 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. Taxi! A little bit crazy, a little bit bad. But hey - don't us girls just love that?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Eh?
Diane: Well, what's wrong boy - cat got your tongue?

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Now I've justified this to myself in all sorts of ways. It wasn't a big deal, just a minor betrayal. Or we'd outgrown each other, you know, that sort of thing. But let's face it, I ripped them off - my so called mates. But Begbie, I couldn't give a shit about him. And Sick Boy, well he'd done the same to me, if he'd only thought of it first. And Spud, well okay, I felt sorry for Spud - he never hurt anybody. So why did I do it? I could offer a million answers - all false. The truth is that I'm a bad person. But, that's gonna change - I'm going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. Now I'm cleaing up and I'm moving on, going straight and choosing life. I'm looking forward to it already. I'm gonna be just like you.The job, the family, the fucking big television. The washing machine, the car, the compact disc and electric tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home, leisure wear, luggage, three piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, washing the car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption clearing gutters, getting by, looking ahead, the day you die.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: People think it's all about misery and desperation and death and all that shit which is not to be ignored, but what they forget is the pleasure of it. Otherwise we wouldn't do it. After all, we're not fucking stupid. At least, we're not that fucking stupid.

Tommy: Very, absolutely fucking radge. "It's me, or Iggy Pop", she says.
Spud: So what're you gonna do?
Tommy: Well I paid for the tickets!

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?

Tommy: Doesn't it make you proud to be Scottish?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: It's SHITE being Scottish! We're the lowest of the low. The scum of the fucking Earth! The most wretched miserable servile pathetic trash that was ever shat on civilization. Some people hate the English. I don't. They're just wankers. We, on the other hand, are colonized by wankers. Can't even find a decent culture to get colonized by. We're ruled by effete assholes. It's a shite state of affairs to be in, Tommy, and all the fresh air in the world won't make any fucking difference!

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: 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 a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit crushing game shows, stuffing junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: This was to be my final hit, but let's be clear about this. There's final hits and final hits. What kind was this to be?

Francis (Franco) Begbie: That wee lassie got glassed, and no cunt leaves till I find out what cunt did it.

Sick Boy: Personality, I mean that's what counts, right? Personality, I mean that's what keeps a relationship going through the years. Like heroin. I mean, heroin's got great fucking personality.

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 fuckin' EVIL shot!

Tommy: How's it going with Gail?
Spud: No joy yet.
Tommy: How long is it?
Spud: Six weeks.
Tommy: Six weeks!
Spud: It's a nightmare. She told me she didn't want our relationship to start on a physical basis as that is how it would be principally defined from then on in.
Tommy: Where did she come up with that?
Spud: She read it in Cosmopolitan.
Tommy: Six weeks and no sex?
Spud: I've got balls like watermelons, I'm telling you.

[in ladies' room]
Gail: I read it in Cosmopolitan.
Lizzie: It's an interesting theory.
Gail: Actually it's a nightmare. I've been desperate for a shag but watching him suffer was just too much fun!

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: [Narrating] This was typical of Mikey Forrester.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: What the fuck are these?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: [Narrating] In the normal run of things, I would have nothing to do with the cunt. But this was not the normal run of things.
Mikey Forrester: One pair of suppositories. Ideal for your purposes. Slow release. Bring you down gradual. Custom fucking designed for your needs.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: I want a fucking hit!
Mikey Forrester: That's all I've got matey, take it or leave it.
[Renton considers this and eventually takes the Opium suppositories and inserts them]
Mikey Forrester: Aye, you feel better the now right?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Oh yeah, for all the good they've done me, I might as well have stuck them up my arse!

Francis 'Franco' Begbie: It was fuckin' obvious that cunt was gonna fuck some cunt.

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 fucking boring after a while without the cards.
Sick Boy: I'm sorry.
Begbie: Bit fucking late, like.
Sick Boy: Why didn't *you* bring them?
Begbie: 'CAUSE I FUCKING TOLD YOU TO BRING THEM, YOU DOSS CUNT!!!
Sick Boy: ...Christ.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: I don't feel the sickness yet, but it's in the post. That's for sure. I'm in the junkie limbo at the moment. Too ill to sleep. Too tired to stay awake, but the sickness is on its way. Sweat, chills, nausea. Pain and craving. A need like nothing else I've ever known will soon take hold of me. It's on its way.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Swanney taught us to adore and respect the national health service. For it was the source of much of our gear. We stole drugs. We stole prescriptions or bought them, sold them, swapped them, forged them, photocopied them. Or traded drugs with cancer victims, alcoholics, old-age pensioners, AIDS patients, epileptics, and bored housewives.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Thank you, your honor. With God's help I'll conquer this terrible affliction.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: We would have injected vitamin C if only they had made it illegal!

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: [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.
[To Mother Superior.]
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...
Mother Superior: Would sir care for a starter of some garlic bread perhaps?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: No, thank you. I will proceed directly to the IV of hard drugs, please.

Allison: That beats any meat injection. That beats any fucking cock in the world.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: 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.

Sick Boy: Say something Rents. FUCKING SAY SOMETHING!!!
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: I'm cooking up.

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.