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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.

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
Football
Lear
Point
Ending
Littles
Complaining
Little
Somehow
Like
King
Boring
Kings
Missing
Misses

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We can't be as good as we'd want to, so the question then becomes, how do we cope with our own badness?
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An official statement from Liverpool raised the spectre of a future where 'a club's rival can bring about a significant ban for a top player without anything beyond an accusation'. But on hearing this, many Manchester United fans would have been asking for a definition of the word 'rival'.
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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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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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...I feel as though I made a face and the wind changed, and now I have to go through life grimacing in this horrible way.
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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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The truth will set you free. Either that or it'll get you a punch in the nose.
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You can wait forever for the muse to sit on your shoulder, but most of the time you know what has to be done and inspiration is not going to help you.
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Even bad times have good things in them to make you feel alive.
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The point is you keep going. You want to. So all the things that make you want to are the point.
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Asking the head I have now to explain its own thinking is as pointless as dialing your own telephone number on your own telephone: Either way, you get an engaged signal. Or your own answer message, if you have that kind of phone system.
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[H]ow was I supposed to get excited about the oppression of females if they couldn't be trusted to stay upright during the final minutes of a desperately close promotion campaign?
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When your sad--like really sad--you only want to be with other people who are sad.
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contemporary poetry is a kind of Reykjavik, a place where accessibility and intelligence have been fighting a Cold War by proxy for the last half-century.
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We were little animals, which is not to imply that by the end of the week we were tearing our tank tops off just that, metaphorically speaking, we had begun to sniff each other's bottoms, and we did not find the odor entirely repellent.
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You have to work at relationships. You can’t just walk out on them every time something goes wrong.
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Where would David Copperfield be if Dickens had gone to writing classes? Probably about seventy minor characters short, is where. (Did you know that Dickens is estimated to have invented thirteen thousand characters? Thirteen thousand! The population of a small town!)
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I fell in love with football as I was later to fall in love with women: suddenly, inexplicably, uncritically, giving no thought to the pain or disruption it would bring with it.
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Clockers asks--almost in passing, and there's a lot more to it than this--a pretty interesting question: if you choose to work for the minimum wage when everyone around you is pocketing thousands from drug deals, then what does that do to you, to your head and to your heart? (Hornby's thoughts after reading Clockers by Richard Price)
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