(…)my friends don’t seem to be friends at all but people whose phone numbers I haven’t lost.
— Nick Hornby (via vidronoliquidificador)
Some of my favourite songs: ‘Only Love Can Break Your Heart’ by Neil Young; ‘Last Night I Dreamed That Somebody Loved Me’, by the Smiths; ‘Call Me’, by Aretha Franklin; ‘I Don’t Want to Talk About It’, by anybody. And then there’s ‘Love Hurts’ and ‘When Love Breaks Down’ and ‘How Can You Mend A Broken Heart’ and ‘The Speed Of The Sound Of Loneliness’ and ‘She’s Gone’ and ‘I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself’ and… some of these songs I have listened to around once a week, on average (three hundred times in the first month, every now and again thereafter), since I was sixteen or nineteen or twenty-one. How can that not leave you bruised somewhere? How can that not turn you into the sort of person liable to break into little bits when your first love goes all wrong? What came first, the music or the misery? Did I listen to music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to music? Do all these records turn you into a melancholy person? People worry about kids playing with guns, and teenagers watching violent videos; we are scared that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands — literally thousands — of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss. The unhappiest people I know, romantically speaking, are the ones who like pop music at the most; and I don’t know whether pop music has caused this unhappiness, but I do know that they’ve been listening to the sad songs longer than they’ve been living the unhappy lives.
— Nick Hornby (via raissaa)
I’m reorganizing my records tonight. It’s something I do in times of emotional distress. When Laura was here I had them in alphabetical order, before that, chronologically. Tonight, though, I’m trying to put them in the order in which I bought them. That way I can write my own autobiography without picking up a pen. Pull them all off the shelves, look for Revolver and go from there. I’ll be able to see how I got from Deep Purple to The Soft Boys in twenty-five moves. What I really like about my new system is that it makes me more complicated than I am. To find anything you have to be me, or at the very least a doctor in Rob-ology. If you wanna find Landslide by Fleetwood Mac you have to know that I bought it for someone in the fall of 1983 and then didn’t give it to them for personal reasons. But you don’t know any of that, do you?
— High Fidelity (via sophistry)
In my top 5 favorite movies.
(high fidelity, 2000)
“And then it dawns on me. Charlie’s awful. She doesn’t listen to anyone, she says terrible, stupid things, she apparently has no sense of humor at all, and talks shit all night long.” - High Fidelity
Did I post something about High Fidelity because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I posted something about High Fidelity?
