Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television.
We took morphine, diamorphine, cyclizine, codeine, temazepam, nitrezepam, phenobarbitone, sodium amytal dextropropoxyphene, methadone, nalbuphine, pethidine, pentazocine, buprenorphine, dextromoramide, chlormethiazole.
You always said you’d die for me.
You’re a tourist in your own youth.
It’s the touchability of gear, plus the look of it, that hooks you.
It’s got to be a motherfucking adventure.
Take the best orgasm you’ve ever had, multiply it by a thousand, and you’re still nowhere near it.
We start off with high hopes, then we bottle it.
Camera, lights, success, fame. I’m never off the TV.
We would have injected vitamin C if only they had made it illegal!
We’re all slaves to something.
The worst toilet in Scotland.
You’re an addict. So be addicted. Just be addicted to something else.
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.
I don’t want to be a tourist in the misery of others, but equally I refuse to be a target of theirs.
Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?
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.
London. Doesn’t anyone fucking live in London?!
In a thousand years, there will be no men and women, just wankers, and that’s fine by me.
You can choose anything, but you can’t choose what’s already chosen.
When you’re on junk, you have only one worry: scoring.
Some people hate the English, but I don’t. They’re just wankers.
I’m fucking freezing, Terry!
It’s that great suburban exodus. The suburbs dream of violence.
The world is changing, music is changing, drugs are changing, even men and women are changing.
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.
I have to choose life, I choose something else.
You don’t understand. You don’t comprehend the fucking magnitude, man.
We could have been anything we wanted.
No matter what you get up to in life, it’s always going to involve a phone bill.
I’m 20 fucking years old, man! Nobody wants to see that!
I’m just a tourist on the edge of insanity.
Take a close look at the motherfucking choo-choo.
Opportunity does not knock. It presents itself when you beat down the door.
Money’s not one of those things you’re really missing when you haven’t got it, is it?
The Sweet sickly smell of stagnant water, dampness, decay.
We all get too many chances, but we never take them. It’s like, ‘What if?’
We took Any Old Wind That Blows and like Paul Simon would be proud to call our own. Huge 6th hit in-a-row. Massive. Hails of dereism all around.
I don’t feel the sickness yet, but it’s in the post. That’s for sure.
It’s a cruel and random world, but the chaos is all so beautiful.
Don’t cry for me, I’m going for a brew.
Nobody wants to serve the junkie scum.
This country was built on hating the English.
Some people hate the English, I don’t. They’re just wankers.
The only thing I regret is being caught.
People, they don’t always notice the changes we make.
Look at Sick Boy; he’d rather have a bottle in front of him than a frontal lobotomy.
I’m not a Catholic. I’m a nihilist.
Retreat, hell! We’re only attacking in a different direction.
Reality is a commodity.
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television.
We took morphine, diamorphine, cyclizine, codeine, temazepam, nitrezepam, phenobarbitone, sodium amytal dextropropoxyphene, methadone, nalbuphine, pethidine, pentazocine, buprenorphine, dextromoramide, chlormethiazole.
You always said you’d die for me.
You’re a tourist in your own youth.
It’s the touchability of gear, plus the look of it, that hooks you.
It’s got to be a motherfucking adventure.
Take the best orgasm you’ve ever had, multiply it by a thousand, and you’re still nowhere near it.
We start off with high hopes, then we bottle it.
Camera, lights, success, fame. I’m never off the TV.
We would have injected vitamin C if only they had made it illegal!
We’re all slaves to something.
The worst toilet in Scotland.
You’re an addict. So be addicted. Just be addicted to something else.
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.
I don’t want to be a tourist in the misery of others, but equally I refuse to be a target of theirs.
Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?
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.
London. Doesn’t anyone fucking live in London?!
In a thousand years, there will be no men and women, just wankers, and that’s fine by me.
You can choose anything, but you can’t choose what’s already chosen.
When you’re on junk, you have only one worry: scoring.
Some people hate the English, but I don’t. They’re just wankers.
I’m fucking freezing, Terry!
It’s that great suburban exodus. The suburbs dream of violence.
The world is changing, music is changing, drugs are changing, even men and women are changing.
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.
I have to choose life, I choose something else.
You don’t understand. You don’t comprehend the fucking magnitude, man.
We could have been anything we wanted.
No matter what you get up to in life, it’s always going to involve a phone bill.
I’m 20 fucking years old, man! Nobody wants to see that!
I’m just a tourist on the edge of insanity.
Take a close look at the motherfucking choo-choo.
Opportunity does not knock. It presents itself when you beat down the door.
Money’s not one of those things you’re really missing when you haven’t got it, is it?
The Sweet sickly smell of stagnant water, dampness, decay.
We all get too many chances, but we never take them. It’s like, ‘What if?’
We took Any Old Wind That Blows and like Paul Simon would be proud to call our own. Huge 6th hit in-a-row. Massive. Hails of dereism all around.
I don’t feel the sickness yet, but it’s in the post. That’s for sure.
It’s a cruel and random world, but the chaos is all so beautiful.
Don’t cry for me, I’m going for a brew.
Nobody wants to serve the junkie scum.
This country was built on hating the English.
Some people hate the English, I don’t. They’re just wankers.
The only thing I regret is being caught.
People, they don’t always notice the changes we make.
Look at Sick Boy; he’d rather have a bottle in front of him than a frontal lobotomy.
I’m not a Catholic. I’m a nihilist.
Retreat, hell! We’re only attacking in a different direction.
Reality is a commodity.
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