Nick Hornby: A Long Way Down

The trouble with my generation is that we all think we’re fucking geniuses. Making something isn’t goond enough for us, and neither is selling something, or teaching something, or even just doing something; we have to be something. It’s our inalienable right, as citizens of the twenty-first century. If Christina Aguilera or Britney or some American Idol jerk can be something, then why can’t I? Where’s mine, huh?

We all spend so much time not saying what we want, because we know we can’t have it. And because it sounds ungracious, or ungrateful, or disloyal, or childish, or banal. Or because we’re so desperate to pretend that things are OK, really, that confessing to ourselves they’re not looks like a bad move. Go on, say what you want. … Whatever it is, say it to yourself. The truth will set you free. Either that or it’ll get you a punch in the nose. Surviving in whatever life you’re living means lying, and lying corrodes the soul, so take a break from the lies for just one minute.

Nem tudom, utoljára mikor bántam ennyire, hogy vége lett egy könyvnek. Mondjuk azt sem tudom, utoljára mikor nevettem regényen ennyit. (Talán ezen. Igazából sok szempontból hasonló a két könyv, ami azért sok mindent elárul a humoromról.)