Mrs. Anderson: Oh, please, Collin. Tiffany? Even I know Tiffany isn't all that.
Malik: Stay away from the girls. Follow the Jews!
Javed: (about his poems) They're not brilliant, but they're mine.
Matt: Who writes songs about nuclear war and Thatcher, anyway?
Alan: No one listens to Springsteen anymore. He's history!
Mr. Evans: 48 years ago I marched into war with my friends to fight men in swastikas. Today I see swastikas on young men on the streets of Luton. That was a very brave poem, young man. You must write more and get your message out. N.F. scum indeed!
Javed: Who's that? Roops: The Boss. Javed: Whose boss? Roops: The boss of us all.
Malik: You're very lucky. You'll always be Pakistani. You will never be British!
Javed: Dad, I want to be a writer. Malik: Writing isn't a job. Javed: It can be! Malik: Name me one Pakistani writer. Just one!
Mrs. Anderson: Oh, please, Colin. Tiffany? Even I know Tiffany's not all that.
Eliza: Javed doesn't drink. He's a Muslim. It's against their religion, Dad. Robert: (pausing) Well, have a little bit, see how you go. We won't tell anyone if you don't.
Javed: It's Bruce Springsteen. Malik: Springsteen? Jewish?
(first lines) Young Javed: September, 1980. My best friend Matt and I have the same birthday. He got a brand new chopper bike. It's really fast and looks so cool. I got a Rubik's cube. But Matt gave me this diary that he didn't want. And I'm going to write in it every day.
Javed: Goodbye, cheese and pickle! My summer job is done! The cold war rages on. Reagan and Thatcher are still number one! But I'm stuck in Luton, one of the herd. No fun, freedom or future, 'cause Luton is a four-letter word.
Matt: Synths are the future!
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