Sid and Nancy

Clive:
I'm gonna be a rude boy. Like my dad.

Nancy:
Never trust a junkie.

Nancy:
What about the farewell drugs?

Nancy:
AAGGHH! I look like f***in' Stevie Nicks in hippie clothes!

Sid:
How do you spell "holiday"?

John:
S-H-I-T.

Nancy:
I don't think that Johnny likes me.

Sid:
He doesn't like anybody. He's a fool.

Nancy:
You like me, don't you?

Nancy:
If I asked you to kill me, would you?

Sid:
I don't know. How would I do it? I couldn't live without ya.

Nancy:
I'll never look like Barbie. Barbie doesn't have bruises.

Nancy:
I f***ing hate them! I f***ing hate them! Ass! Ow! F***ing motherf***ers! They wouldn't send us any money! They said we'd spend it on DRUGS!

Sid:
We would!

Nancy:
Boring, Sidney, Boring!

John:
Go on, Sidney. Spray the beast.

Nancy:
I hate my f***in' life.

Sid:
This is just a rough patch. Things'll be much better when we get to America, I promise.

Nancy:
We're in America. We've been here a week. New York is in America, you f***.

Sid:
You know, I was so bored once that I f***ed a dog.

Malcolm:
But Sidney's more than a mere bass player. He's a fabulous disaster. He's a symbol, a metaphor, he embodies the dementia of a nihilistic generation. He's a f***in' star.

Malcolm:
Phoebe - how would you like to supervise our Sidney for a month or two?

Phoebe:
No way.

Malcolm:
Go on; you'd be a good influence on the boy. Why not?

Phoebe:
Infectious hepatitis, loony girlfriend, drugs?

Malcolm:
Boys will be boys.

Sid:
If it wasn't for my mum's kindness, we'd be out on the f***ing streets!

Nancy:
And if it wasn't for your mom's stupidity, we'd have our own apartment in Paris!

Sid:
We don't f***ing care.

Sid:
'Ere, speakin of c*nts who can't play. Hello girls, where'd you get your perms?

Nancy:
It's a real waste to smoke that sh*t. Don't ya have any needles?

Nancy:
What are ya doin here? You're in the studio, these places cost like fifty grand a minute. You could be really shining out! But what? You're just wonking off!

John:
Wanking!

Nancy:
What happened to you? Did you try and kiss your mother?

John:
None of your business.

Brenda Winczor:
John got beaten up by facists.

Paul:
F***ing cabbies, that's what we should be. Make two hundred quid a night being a cabbie.

Sid:
Why don't you f*** off and be one then?

Paul:
Cos it takes eighteen months to learn.

Sid:
You need a driving license too.

Paul:
And a set of golf clubs.

Bowery Snax, drug dealer:
Sid and Nance, drop your pants.

Nancy:
Who's Dick Dent?

Brenda Winczor:
He's just some wanky journalist who don't appreciate The Sex Pistols

Sid:
Why don't you shut up and f***ing sing you twat.

Paul:
You're well out of time, Sid.

Sid:
Bollocks, you wanker.

Steve:
Play the f***ing song, will ya.

John:
Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?

Punk:
I'm tired of being a Punk, I'm going to be a Rude Boy!

'Make us a cup of tea'

'Yeah two sugars you c*nt'