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I miss him like one might miss a scar, or wooden leg, something disfiguring but characteristic.

Nick Hornby

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Nick Hornby
Age: 67
Born: 1957
Born: April 17
Essayist
Film Producer
Lyricist
Novelist
Screenwriter
Songwriter
Writer
Nicholas Peter John Hornby
Legs
Missing
Might
Something
Wooden
Like
Characteristic
Scar
Characteristics
Miss

More quotes by Nick Hornby

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On New Year's Eve he ould make a resolution to recover some his previous scepticism, but until then he would do as the Romans do, and smile at people even if he disapproved of them
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The natural state of the football fan is bitter disappointment, no matter what the score.
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We're here for such a short amount of time. Why do we spend any of it building sandcastles?
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I love the detail about the workings of the human heart and mind that only fiction can provide - film can't get in close enough.
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Being a reader is sort of like being president, except reading involves fewer state dinners, usually. You have this agenda you want to get through, but you get distracted by life events, e.g., books arriving in the mail/World War III, and you are temporarily deflected from your chosen path.
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Complaining about boring football is a little like complaining about the sad ending of King Lear: it misses the point somehow.
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The artistic temperament is particularly unhelpful if it is just that, with no end product.
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I'm not telling you that suicidal people aren't so far away from people who can get by I'm telling you that people who can get by aren't so far away from being suicidal.
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One could argue that most of the trouble in the world is caused by introspection.
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Phone calls like ours only happen when you've spent several years hurting and being hurt, until every work you utter or hear becomes coded and loaded, as complicated and full of subtext as a bleak and brilliant play.
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Hey, great idea: if you have kids, give your partner reading vouchers next Christmas. Each voucher entitles the bearer to two hours' reading time *while the kids are awake*. It might look like a cheapskate present, but parents will appreciate that it costs more in real terms than a Lamborghini.
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You don't ask people with knives in their stomachs what would make them happy happiness is no longer the point. It's all about survival it's all about whether you pull the knife out and bleed to death or keep it in.
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You wouldn't believe that so much could change just because a relationship ended.
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I've committed to nothing...and that's just suicide...by tiny, tiny increments.
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The truth will set you free. Either that or it'll get you a punch in the nose.
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This thing about looking for someone less different... It only really worked, he realized, if you were convinced that being you wasn't so bad in the first place.
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Linda seemed to recognize loneliness. Possibly she could see it sitting opposite her, sipping lager and trying not to lose its temper. It was an illness, loneliness-it made you weak, gullible, feebleminded.
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The chief attraction of the opposite sex for all of us, old and young, men and women: we need someone to save us from the sympathetic smiles in the Sunday-night cinema queue, someone who can stop us from falling down into the pit where the permanently single live with their mums and dads.
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And we'd had this stupid scene on the street, and even that was kind of cool, because sometimes it's moments like that, real complicated moments, absorbing moments, that make you realize that even hard times have things in them that make you feel alive.
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Indeed, there is a moment on the first CD - the electrifying opening to I Got Loaded, which sounds like an R&B standard but isn't - when you might find yourself asking whether anyone who has ever been smitten by pop music can fail to have his heart stopped by the chords, the swing, and, once again, Steve Berlin's wonderfully greasy sax.
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