There are two seasons in Scotland: June and Winter.
Paddy was in the delivery room when the midwife handed him a black baby. “Is this yours?” she asked “probably” said Paddy “she burns everything else”
I set out to be a cross between Lenny Bruce and Robert the Bruce.
A lot of people are too easily offended. Religious people, for instance. They’ve been offending other people for centuries.
I hate those earnest TV documentaries that are the world according to people with glasses who know better than you.
Don’t buy one of those baby intercoms. Babies pretend to be dead. They’re bastards, and they do it on purpose.
What always staggers me is that when people blow their noses, they always look into their hankies to see what came out. What do they expect to find?
I’m not going to throw away the hand of friendship to suit 100 Trotskyites in Glasgow.
Nothing means anything here. When they pull down an outstanding building, no one objects. Oh, maybe there’s a wee protest from some collectors or something who take a picture of it before it vanishes.
The only time I would like to see was the 20s and 30s in America because I love the music and the style and the optimism, I wanted to see New York being built. I wanted to see all that, you know.
I love fishing. It’s transcendental meditation with a punchline.
I decided to stop drinking while it was still my idea.
I spent the whole time battering people I liked and singing with my arm round people I loathed.
For me, it’s about the desire to win. My audience becomes a crowd of wild animals and I have to be the lion-tamer or be eaten.
In Mexico, everything on the menu is the same dish. The only difference is the way it’s folded.
I like Dali and Magritte. I also like the Scottish artist John Byrne, another surrealist.
Don’t vote, it only encourages them.
I loathe hecklers. I haven’t got a good syllable to say. When you come out of the club circuit and into the concert hall, they should be gone. There’s an element of manners that should tell you that the ticket is dear and it’s a different venue.
Killing a guy and stealing his wife and child isn’t too nice a thing to do.
The strangest thing is at tea breaks, or coffee breaks or lunch, you forget you’re a zombie. And you’re talking about politics to somebody at the table and you forget that you have a bullet hole in your forehead.
I just believe in the movie. I don’t care what the book was like. I don’t care what the previous film was like or other films were like. I care only about the script I’ve got.