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Sid & Nancy

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[getting off the phone with her parents]
Nancy: I fuckin' hate them! I fucking hate them! Fucking motherfuckers! They wouldn't send us any money! They said we'd spend it on drugs!
Sid: Well, we would!

Nancy: I hate my fuckin' 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 fuck.

Nancy: Never trust a junkie.

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

[Nancy storms out of their flat in Sid's mother's clothes, then sees herself reflected in a window]
Nancy: AAGGHH! I look like fuckin' Stevie Nicks in hippie clothes!

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.

Nancy: [Pointing] No! Look, that's the Rollerama. Sid, I won a roller skating trophy there when I was six years old.
Granma: Nancy, don't fib.
Nancy: Fuck you, Grandma.

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 fuckin' star.

[as Sid storms out]
Nancy: Fuck it, Sid, don't leave! Sid! What about the farewell drugs? Sid! Sid.

Sid: [in a taxi on the way to the airport] I wish we wasn't breaking up.
Phoebe: Well it's a bit late for that isn't it? Paul and Steve are flying to Rio, Malcom's in London, John's in New York.
Sid: Yeah, great. What am I gonna do?
Phoebe: Anything you like; you're a free agent now.
Sid: I'll go home; see Nancy.
Phoebe: Yeah, well do that.
Sid: Master Kung Fu.
Phoebe: Look try and get off the heroin OK? Come on promise.
Sid: Ok.
Phoebe: And cut back on the drinking all right?
Sid: Yeah all right, all right I promise! Cross me heart and hope to die
[he smirks]

Nancy: Boring, Sidney, Boring!

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

Sid: If it weren't for me mum's kindness, we'd be on the fucking streets!
Nancy: Yeah? And if it weren't for your own stupidity, we'd be living in our own apartment in Paris, France!

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

Rock Head: [on an exercise bike] So, it appears we are related.
John: [drinking from a bottle of vodka - he burps] Eh?
Rock Head: The press. They're callin' me the "Big Daddy of Punk"
[he looks at Sid and Nancy kissing and groping on the bed]
Rock Head: Lovely couple.
John: Fuck you, Rock Head. What the fuck are you doin' here anyway? I think I'm gonna fuckin' puke!
[burps again]

Sid: How do you spell "holiday"?
John: S-H-I-T.

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.

John: Go on, Sidney. Spray the beast.

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.

Detective: [Sid has been arrested] Why so tense kid? Look, we just wanna know who the girl was. Where did you meet her? Son?
[hands him a cigarette]
Detective: Son.
Sid: [Takes a drag and sniffles] I met her at Linda's.
Detective: Linda? Who's Linda?

Paul: Fucking cabbies, that's what we should be. Make two hundred quid a night being a cabbie.
Sid: Why don't you fuck 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.

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 fucking sing you twat.
Paul: You're well out of time, Sid.
Sid: Bollocks, you wanker.
Steve: Play the fucking song, will ya.
John: Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?

Nancy: Like, I was at CBGB's at this audition, right? So this guy says, "Can you sing like Debbie Harry?" It's a bad deal looking like an established star, let me tell you that. I mean, I like Debbie. We're really good friends, actually.

Granpa: So, are you gonna make an honest woman out of our Nancy, Sid?
Sid: Well, she's always been honest to me. Granpa, sir. She's never lied to me.
Granpa: But, um, what are your, uh, intentions?
Sid: Well, first off, we're gonna go down to the methadone clinic on Monday and then Nancy's gonna get me some gigs. And then we're gonna go off and, like, live in Paris and just sort of go out in a blaze of glory. Yeah, but don't worry. You'll be proud of us.

Sid: When was the last time we fucked?
Nancy: I can't remember. You miss it? We can if you want to.
Sid: No. Just give me a kiss.

Sid: These people, they 're really lovely. Best fuckin' food I ever ate. So why'd they throw us out?
Nancy: 'Cause they know me.

Nancy: I wish I was fuckin' dead.
Sid: Oh, shut up, please. Quit goin' on about it. I've got more reasons to be depressed than you. You're much better off than I am.
Nancy: Why? At least you used to be something. I've never been anything.

Sid: You know, I was so bored once that I fucked a dog.

Sid: [practicing a song] We don't fucking care
John: No. No "fucking." It's just, "We don't care."

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

John: There's Dick Dent.
Nancy: Who's Dick Dent?
Linda: He's just some wankin' journalist that don't appreciate the Sex Pistols.
John: Go get him, Sidney. Go!

Sid: How vile. Sex is boring. Ugly hippie shit.
Nancy: You're fuckin' insane too. Fuckin' insane.

Sid: Hey, John, I'm gonna have a tattoo on my head. "Brain damage!"

John: You're not gettin' anything.
Nancy: What?
John: You heard. Fuckin' Americans. That's all you ever think about: sex. None of us fucks, see? Sex is ugly. None of your free hippie love shit here.

Nancy: Why do I have to go? I got a broken heel.

Phoebe: I know what you're feeling. I know how important your relationship is. But if you two wanna stay together, we'll just have to find another bass player.
Nancy: Sid Vicious is the Sex Pistols.
John: Bollocks.

Malcolm: Four words: no women on the tour.
Nancy: That's five words. No way, Malcolm. No fucking way.
Sid: Yeah, right. There's no way.

Nancy: [on the phone] Did you buy me any presents yet?
Sid: Yeah, I bought you loads.
Nancy: Oh, yeah? What?
Sid: I bought you a six-pack and a bra in the same shop!

Malcolm: Where are you going, Sidney?
Sid: Oh, Malcky Walcky, give me some money.
Malcolm: Sidney, as a Sex Pistol, all your human needs are seen to: food, beer, designer wardrobe. Why do you need money?
Sid: Oh, I don't know. Little things round the house.

Nancy: Granma, can I borrow the car? I wanna teach Sid how to drive American.

Nancy: It seems like all my friends are dead. When I'm dead, will you be sad?
Sid: I couldn't live without you.
Nancy: You couldn't?
Sid: No.
Nancy: We better go together then.

Nancy: [on the phone] I'm here and you're there.
Sid: Yeah, I know I'm here, but I want it off with ya!
Nancy: Look, Sidney, what am I supposed to do, put it in a box and send it? You'll just have to have sex with somebody else.

Nancy: Vito, come on, please. Give us a gig. You want me to fuck you?
Vito: No. And you shouldn't offer. It's not professional.

Guitarist: Yeah, we'd sound a lot better if we rehearsed.
Nancy: Sid doesn't need to rehearse. He's a natural.

Drummer: Get it together, Sid. You just gotta learn the words.
Nancy: Words. It's not words. It's just those bridge and tunnel geeks don't appreciate his style.

Sid: Got any beer for me?
Bowery Snax, drug dealer: I got some tickets to see Bruce Springsteen.
Sid: I don't want fuckin' tickets for fuckin' Bruce Springsteen! Fuck off and get me some smack!

Methadone Caseworker: You guys got no right to be strung out on that stuff. You could be selling healthy anarchy. But long as you're addicts, you'll be full of shit.

Methadone Caseworker: You know about the Golden Triangle?
Nancy: Yeah.
Methadone Caseworker: That's where the heroin comes from. Heard about it when I was in the 'Nam. You heard of Vietnam, right?...
Nancy: Yup.
Methadone Caseworker: Yeah, while us guys was fightin' and dyin' and gettin' all fucked up, the CIA was flyin' the shit out of there and into here with our planes. You know who paid for that shit? We did. That is, the government. You know why? 'Cause smack is the great controller. Keeps the people stupid when they could be smart.
Sid: What's he on about?
Nancy: Some bullshit politics.

Gretchen: We're being so stupid, Nance. We should just leave 'em.
Nancy: Yeah, sure. Love kills.

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Sid & Nancy

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