None of it mattered, because there was music.

Crying is good for the soul. It means something needs to be released. And if you don't release the something, it just weighs you down until you can hardly move.

I just got into the Beatles a couple of years ago, you know, I like it.

I liked AC/DC," Lee said. "If you were going to shoot someone, you'd really want to do it while you were listening to them."
"What about the Beatles? Did you feel like shooting anyone listening to them?"
Lee considered seriously for a moment, then said, "Myself."
At the same time he was laughing, Ig was distressed. Not liking the Beatles was almost as bad as not knowing about them at all.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand.’ First single. Fucking brilliant. Perhaps the most fucking brilliant song ever written. Because they nailed it. That’s what everyone wants. Not 24-7 hot wet sex. Not a marriage that lasts a hundred years. Not a Porsche or a blow job or a million-dollar crib. No. They wanna hold your hand. They have a feeling that they can’t hide.

The Beatles were bubblegum cards and Help at the Saturday morning cinema and toy plastic guitars and singing 'Yellow Submarine' at the top of my voice in the back row of the coach on school trips. They belong to me, not to me and Laura, or me and Charlie, or me and Alison Ashworth, and though they'll make me feel something, they won't make me feel anything bad.