He loved Nirvana, but at his age they were kind of a guilty pleasure. All that rage and pain and self-hatred! Will got a bit...fed up sometimes, but he couldn't pretend it was anything stronger than that. So now he used loud angry rock music as a replacement for real feelings, rather than as an expression of them, and he didn't even mind very much. What good were real feelings anyway?

And mostly all I have to say about these songs is that I love them, and want to sing along to them, and force other people to listen to them, and get cross when these other people don't like them as much as I do.

Complaining about boring football is a little like complaining about the sad ending of King Lear: it misses the point somehow.

We are never allowed to forget that some books are badly written; we should remember that sometimes they're badly read, too.

You just have to smile and take it, otherwise it would drive you mad.

He has the personality of a child prodigy, but no discernable talent.

It's just that none of us had the wit or talent to make them into songs. We made them into life, which much messier, and more time consuming, and leaves nothing for anybody to whistle.