Ian Curtis: Existence. Well, what does it matter? I exist on the best terms I can. The past is now part of my future. The present is well out of hand.
John Cooper Clarke: The colour scheme is fuckin' brown Everywhere in chicken town, The fuckin' pubs are fuckin' dull The fuckin' clubs are fuckin' full of fuckin' girls and fuckin' guys with fuckin' murder in their eyes, A fuckin' bloke gets fuckin' stabbed waitin' for a fuckin' cab, You fuckin' stay at fuckin' home, The fuckin' neighbours fuckin' moan, Keep the fuckin' racket down This is fuckin' chicken town The fuckin' pies are fuckin' old, The fuckin' chips are fuckin' cold, The fuckin' beer is fuckin' flat, The fuckin' flats have fuckin' rats, The fuckin' clocks are fuckin' wrong The fuckin' days are fuckin' long, It fuckin' gets you fuckin' down Evidently chicken town
Ian Curtis: So this is permanence; love-shattered pride. What once was innocence, has turned on its side.
Ian Curtis: I struggle between what I know is right in my own mind, and some warped truthfulness as seen through other people's eyes who have no heart, and can't see the difference anyway.
Ian Curtis: I don't want to be in the band anymore. Unknown Pleasures was it. I was happy. I never meant for it to grow like this. When I'm up there, singing they don't understand how much I give and how it affects me. Now they want more. They expect me to give more. And I don't know if I can. It's like it's not happening to me, but... someone pretending to be me, someone dressed in my skin. Now we're going to America. I have no control anymore. I don't know what to do.
Ian Curtis: Side effects include: drowsiness, apathy, and blurred vision... I'm taking two.
Ian Curtis: When you look at your life, in a strange new room, maybe drowning soon, is this the start of it all?
Ian Curtis: I wish I were a Warhol silk screen hanging on the wall. Or little Joe or maybe Lou. I'd love to be them all. All New York's broken hearts and secrets would be mine. I'd put you on a movie reel, and that would be just fine.
Ian Curtis: [handing Tony Wilson a piece of paper] Joy Division, you cunt!
Bernard Sumner: I believe in pure... sex.