Wednesday, November 12, 2008


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 morning. 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 yourself.
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 in Trainspotting



Anonymous said...

grande filme (:

Rita said...

Fabuloso filme, fabulosa passagem!! Marcante! *

The Queen said...

ms será k ninguém percebeu k não estou a queixar-me?? :P

Renato_Seara said...

Aliás quem entra em determinado quarto dá por si a ler algo parecido...acho que andas a passar demasiado tempo em determinado quarto:DD!!

Anonymous said...

Grande comidela de cabeça esse filme...por isso é tão bom!E concordo com a rita,grand passagem!