Screenwriters

"We'll be sending a print to the MPAA, we say nothing about it and hope they sleep through the movie."

"As you see, the reactions were really reserved from the studios..."

"This day showed us that we are all completely voyeurs greedy for thrilling entertainment no matter if this is real or not."

"He died a hero they sais. Ah remember that song: Billy Don't Be A Hero. In fact, he died a spare prick in uniform, walkin along a country road wi a rifle in his hand. He died an ignorant victim ay imperialism, understanding fuck all about the myriad circumstances that led to his death. That was the real crime, he understood fuck all about it. All he hud tae guide him through this great adventure in Ireland, which led tae his death, was a few vaguely formed sectarian sentiments. The cunt died exactly how he lived: completely fuckin scoobied."

"Once you've been with each other in a primal, shagging state, it's hard to talk about the weather."

"That's all very well as an abstract moral principle, Avril, a coffee-table theoretical construct, but there's no denying the sheer gratuitous pleasure to be derived from seeing members of the ruling class in pain and torment."

"There's nothing worse than a violent beating from an unremarkable person. Physical violence with someone is too much like shagging them. Too much id involved."

"The duty sergeant was going through his routine of asking each brawling set of prisoners who the Billy and who the Tim was. If the handshake is right he will let the Billy go and slap the Tim around a bit. That way everybody's happy. The Billy gets to feel superior and delude himself that being a non-churchgoing 'protestant' is somehow important; the Tim gets to feel persecuted and indulge his paranoia about masonic conspiracies; the sergeant gets to slap the Tim around."

"Bad luck is usually transmitted by close proximity to habitual sufferers."

"That cunt Nietzsche wis wide ay the mark whin he sais ah wis deid. Ah'm no deid; ah jist dinnae gie a fuck. It's no fir me tae sort every cunt's problems oot. Nae other cunt gies a fuck so how should ah? Eh?"

"Ah jist shrugged, -- Well, as one anarchist plumber sais tae the other: smash the cistern."

"Ah've never felt anything about countries, other than total disgust. They should fuckin abolish the lot of them. Kill every fuckin parasite politician that ever mouthed lies and fascist platitudes in a shell-suit and a smarmy smile."

"You can't just have stuff that is free and escapist, you have to have stuff that is confrontational as well. You need stuff that is mystical but you need the realism too."

"Ah suppose man, ah'm too much ay a perfectionist, ken? It's likesay, if things go a bit dodgy, ah jist cannae be bothered, y'know?"

"He had noted that with older people. They often try to control younger, more popular and vivacious people; usually due to the fact that they are jealous of the qualities the younger people have and they lack. These inadequacies are disguised with a benign, protective attitude."

"Ah thought that every cunt over twenty was a toss an no worth speakin tae, until ah hit twenty. The mair ah see, the mair ah think ah wis right. After that it's aw ugly compromise, aw timid surrender, progressively until death."

"Still, failure, success, what is it? Whae gies a fuck. We aw live, then we die, in quite a short space ay time n aw. That's it; end ay fuckin story."

"Society invents a spurious convoluted logic tae absorb and change people whae's behaviour is outside its mainstream. Suppose that ah ken aw the pros and cons, know that ah'm gaunnae huv a short life, am ay sound mind etcetera, etcetera, but still want tae use smack? They won't let ye dae it. They won't let ye dae it, because its seen as a sign ay thir ain failure. The fact that ye jist simply choose tae reject whit they huv to offer. Choose us. Choose life. Choose mortgage payments; choose washing machines; choose cars; choose sitting oan a fuckin couch watching mind-numbing and spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fuckin junk food intae yir mooth; choose rotting away, pishing and shiteing yersel in a home, a total fuckin embarrassment tae the selfish, fucked-up brats ye've produced. Choose life.Well, ah choose no tae choose life. If the cunts cannae handle that, it's thair fuckin problem. As Harry Lauder sais, ah jist intend tae keep right on to the end of the road ..."

"Ah cannae feel any remorse, only anger and contempt. Ah seethed when ah saw that fuckin Union Jack oan his coffin, and that smarmy, wimpy cunt ay an officer, obviously oot ay his fuckin depth here, tryin to talk tae my Ma. Worse still, these Glasgow cunts, the auld boy's side, are here through en masse. They're fill ay shite aboot how Billy died in service ay his country n all that servile Hun crap. Billy wis a daft cunt, pure and simple. No a hero, no a martyr, just a daft cunt."

"Ah wonder if anybody this side of the Atlantic has ever bought a baseball bat with playing baseball in mind."

"How many shots does it take before the concept ay choice becomes obsolete?"

"Rents once sais, thirs nothin like a darker skin tone tae increase the vigilance ay the police n the magistrates: too right."

"Funny scene, likesay, how aw the psychos seem tae ken each other, ken what ah means, likes?"

"I dinnae Tam, ah jist dinnae. Life's boring and futile. We start oaf wi high hopes, then we bottle it. We realize that we're aw gaunnae die, withoot really findin oot the big answers. We develop aw they long-winded ideas which jist interpret the reality ay oor lives in different weys, withoot really extending oor body ay worthwhile knowledge, about the big things, the real things. Basically, we live a short, disappointing life; and then we die. We fill oor lives up wi shite, shite like joabs n relationships, tae delude ourselves intae thinkin that it isnae aw totally pointless. Smack's an honest drug, because it strips away these delusions. It's the only really honest drug. It disnae alter yir consciousness. It jist gies ye a hit and a sense ay well-being. After that, ye see the misery ay the world as it is, and ye cannae anesthaetise yirsel against it."

"The only people that ever made a difference to Billy were the Provos, and they were cunts as well. Ah've no illusions aboot them as freedom fighters. The bastards made ma brar intae a pile ay cat food. But they jist pulled the switch. His death was concieved of by these Orange cunts, comin through every July with thir sashes and flutes, fillin Billy's stupid head with nonsense aboot crown and country and aw that garbage. They'll go home chuffed fae the day. They kin tell aw thir mates aboot how one ay the family died, murdered by the IRA, while defending Ulster. It'll fuel thir pointless anger, get them bought drinks in pubs, and help establish their doss-bastard credibility wi other sectarian arseholes."

"Ah hate cunts like that. Cunts like Begbie. Cunts that are intae basebaw-batting every fucker that's different; pakis, poofs, n what huv ye. Fuckin failures in a country ay failures. It's nae good blamin it oan the English fir colonising us. Ah don't hate the English. They're just wankers. We are colonised by wankers. We can't even pick a decent, vibrant, healthy culture to be colonised by. No. We're ruled by effete arseholes. What does that make us? The lowest of the fuckin low, tha's what, the scum of the earth. The most wretched, servile, miserable, pathetic trash that was ever shat intae creation. Ah don't hate the English. They just git oan wi the shite thuv goat. Ah hate the Scots."

"The rhetorical question, the stock-in-trade weapon ay burds and psychos."

""We are all acquaintances now". It goes beyond our personal junk circumstances; a brilliant metaphor for our times."

"That beats any meat injection … that beats any fuckin cock in the world … Ali gasps, completely serious. It unnerves us tae the extent that ah feel ma ain genitals through ma troosers tae see if they're still thair."

"Sometimes ah think that people become junkies just because they subconsiously crave a wee bit ay silence."

"Roper: This was not practical; this was moral! More: Oh, now I understand you, Will. Morality's not practical. Morality's a gesture. A complicated gesture learned from books."

"Have patience, Margaret, and trouble not thyself. Death comes for us all; even at our birth — even at our birth, death does but stand aside a little. And every day he looks toward us and muses somewhat to himself whether that day or the next he will draw nigh. It is the law of nature, and the will of God. You have long known the secrets of my heart."

"Jailer: You understand my position, sir, there's nothing I can do; I'm a plain, simple man and just want to keep out of trouble. More: Oh, Sweet Jesus! These plain, simple men!"

"More: I am faint when I think of the worst that they may do to me. But worse than that would be to go without you not understanding why I go. Alice: I don't! More: Alice, if you can tell me that you understand, I think I can make a good death, if I have to. Alice: Your death's no "good" to me! More: Alice, you must tell me that you understand! Alice: I don't! I don't believe this had to happen. More: If you say that, Alice, I don't know how I'm to face it. Alice: It's the truth! More: You're an honest woman. Alice: Much good it may do me! I'll tell you what I'm afraid of: that when you're gone, I shall hate you for it."

"Margaret: Haven't you done as much as God can reasonably want? More: Well... finally... it isn't a matter of reason; finally it's a matter of love. Alice: You're content, then, to be shut up here with mice and rats when you might be home with us! More: Content? If they'd open a crack that wide I'd be through it. Well, has Eve run out of apples? Margaret: I've not yet told you what the house is like, without you. More: Don't, Meg. Margaret: What we do in the evenings, now that you're not there. More: Meg, have done! Margaret: We sit in the dark because we've no candles. And we've no talk because we're wondering what they're doing to you here. More: The King's more merciful than you. He doesn't use the rack."

"When a man takes an oath, Meg, he's holding his own self in his own hands. Like water. And if he opens his fingers then — he needn't hope to find himself again."

"More: You want me to swear to the Act of Succession? Margaret: "God more regards the thoughts of the heart than the words of the mouth." Or so you've always told me. More: Yes. Margaret: Then say the words of the oath and in your heart think otherwise. More: What is an oath then but words we say to God?"

"Cromwell: You don't seem to appreciate the seriousness of your position. More: I defy anyone to live in that cell for a year and not appreciate the seriousness of his position. Cromwell: Yet the State has harsher punishments. More: You threaten like a dockside bully. Cromwell: How should I threaten? More: Like a Minister of State, with justice! Cromwell: Oh, justice is what you're threatened with. More: Then I'm not threatened."

"Norfolk: I'm not a scholar, as Master Cromwell never tires of pointing out, and frankly I don't know whether the marriage was lawful or not. But damn it, Thomas, look at those names... You know those men! Can't you do what I did, and come with us for friendship? More: And when we stand before God, and you are sent to Paradise for doing according to your conscience, and I am damned for not doing according to mine, will you come with me, for friendship? Cranmer: So those of us whose names are there are damned, Sir Thomas? More: I don't know, Your Grace. I have no window to look into another man's conscience. I condemn no one. Cranmer: Then the matter is capable of question? More: Certainly. Cranmer: But that you owe obedience to your King is not capable of question. So weigh a doubt against a certainty — and sign. More: Some men think the Earth is round, others think it flat; it is a matter capable of question. But if it is flat, will the King's command make it round? And if it is round, will the King's command flatten it? No, I will not sign."

"More: I will not take the oath. I will not tell you why I will not. Norfolk: Then your reasons must be treasonable! More: Not "must be;" may be. Norfolk: It's a fair assumption! More: The law requires more than an assumption; the law requires a fact."

"Cromwell: The King's a man of conscience and he wants either Sir Thomas More to bless his marriage or Sir Thomas More destroyed. Rich: They seem odd alternatives, Secretary. Cromwell: Do they? That's because you're not a man of conscience. If the King destroys a man, that's proof to the King that it must have been a bad man, the kind of man a man of conscience ought to destroy — and of course a bad man's blessing's not worth having. So either will do."

"Cromwell: You brought yourself to where you are now. More: Yes. Still, in another sense, I was brought."

"Roper: So now you’d give the Devil benefit of law? More: Yes. What would you do? Cut a great road through the law to get after the Devil? Roper: I’d cut down every law in England to do that! More: Oh? And, when the last law was down, and the Devil turned round on you – where would you hide, Roper, the laws all being flat? This country’s planted thick with laws from coast to coast – man’s laws, not God’s – and, if you cut them down – and you’re just the man to do it – d’you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then? Yes, I’d give the Devil benefit of law, for my own safety’s sake."

"On Melbourne summer mornings the green trams go rolling in stately progress down tunnels thick with leaves: the bright air carries along the avenue their patient chime, the chattering of their wheels"

"Our minds are not hopeful, thought Janet; but our nerves are made of optimistic stuff."

"Out in deep space the planets sweep, inexorable, along their splendid orbits. Maxine bowed her head. From now on she would take the gods' dictation."

"The rain began again. It fell heavily, easily, with no meaning or intention but the fulfilment of its own nature, which was to fall and fall."

"'The devil's everywhere,' he said. 'Not just at Brunswick one day and somewhere else the next. He's everywhere.'"

"'Crap,' said Janet. 'He was a whinger and he wrote it down. That's not poetry.'"

"Ideas came swarming through her, and like many people who labour in the obsession of solitude, she lacked the detachment to challenge them."