Chopper: Why would I shoot a bloke BANG, then drive him to the bloody car and wizz him off to the hospital at a hundred miles an hour? It defeats the purpose of having shot him in the first place.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chopper: I'm just a bloody normal bloke. A normal bloke who likes a bit of torture.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chopper: Oh, Keithy. I always thought I was a good bloke.
Keithy George: Ha. What did you ever do that was good?
Chopper: Well, I bashed you. That was good, wasn't it? It was good for a bit of a giggle, anyway.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chopper: Jimmy, if you keep stabbing me, you're going to kill me.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chopper: Look, all I can tell you is what I've already told Mister Beasley: none of us saw anything. It was just one of those things: Bluey Barnes was reading a magazine; Ambrose Hatcheson was taking a piss; Johnny Price was washing his hands; Jimmy Loughnan was watching a bullant crawl across the table, and I was watching Jimmy watching the bullant.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chopper: Aw, look. The bloke's been my best mate since 1975. We've had our fall-outs from time to time. It's no big deal. It's like... if your mum stabbed you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chopper: Look, you're not still angry at me about the leg, are you?
Neville Bartos: Nah, forget about it.
Chopper: Because I don't know if you remember, Neville, but I had that bloody shotgun pointed at your head. I reconsidered and dropped it down to your kneecap. Remember?
Neville Bartos: Forget about it. All right?
Chopper: I mean, what the bloody hell were you doing getting lippy at me with a bloody shotgun? I had a bloody loaded shotgun.
Neville Bartos: The leg is okay, all right?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Interviewer: You've written a best-seller...
Chopper: Yeah, I know - and I can't even bloody spell. What about those poor bloody academics, those college graduates, battling their guts out to write some airy-fairy piece of exaggerated artwork? And here's a bloke, sitting in a cell, who can't spell, and he's written a best-seller. It's sold two hundred and fifty thousand copies. And it's still selling. And he's writing another one. And I can't even spell. I'm semi-bloody-illiterate.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chopper: Even Beethoven had his critics. See if you can name three of them.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chopper: Beethoven had his critics too, Keithy, see if you can name three of them.
[Keithy continues walking back and forth, confused]
Chopper: That's right, you can't.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chopper: You don't much like me, do you Keithy?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Keith Read: [to Chopper, who's ears have been sliced] Cheers, big ears!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chopper: [Jimmy has stabbed Chopper seven times] It's all right, Jimmy. I don't hate you. You just broke my heart.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chopper: You've probably read all the newspaper stories about me, and you've heard the word on the street about me, and you've probably got a picture in your head of what Chopper Read's like and we're sitting here at this bar all very nice and cosy and I'm a bit of a let down to you.

It was Christmas Eve, Frank
In the ice bath
An old player said to me, won't see another one
And then he sang a song
'Banks of My Lovely Lee'
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you
Got on a lucky one
Played in Fermoy, we won
I've got a feeling
This team's completely new
So happy Christmas
I love you Frankie
Promised me a better time
When all my dreams come true
They've got cars big as bars
They've got medals of gold
But when Canning goes right through you
'Tis no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Fermoy field
You promised me
Glory was waiting for me
You were fearsome
You were tricky
King of Cork's hurling City
When the boys finished playing
They were thrown out the door
Sean Og came out swinging,
All the comments were stinging
But Ger fought his corner
And said training's alright
The boys of the Cork County Board choir
Were singing "Play Away"
And the bells were ringing out
Down Noreside way
We are done
We are sunk
Our hurling future is junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
Start talking and sort it
Don't let the Cats lord it
Get off your high horses
And find peace now that lasts
I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I disowned you
I placed them in new lads
Whose hearts and minds I own
Go training all alone
I've built my dreams around youth

Wear sunscreen. If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.

Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.
Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.