Fight Club — Chuck Palahniuk.

Every takeoff and landing, when the plane banked too much to one side, I prayed for a crash. That moment cures my insomnia with narcolepsy when we might die helpless and packed human tobacco in the fuselage.

Imagine, the task force guy says, telling a passenger on arrival that a dildo kept her baggage on the East Coast. Sometimes it’s even a man. It’s airline policy not to imply ownership in the event of a dildo. Use the indefinite article. A dildo. Never your dildo. Never, ever say the dildo accidentally turned itself on. A dildo activated itself and created an emergency situation that required evacuating your baggage.

Fight club isn’t about winning or losing fights. Fight club isn’t about words. You see a guy come to fight club for the first time, and his ass is a loaf of white bread. You see this same guy here six months later, and he looks carved out of wood. This guy trusts himself to handle anything.

There are a lot of things we don’t want to know about the people we love.

Nobody cared if he lived or died, and the feeling was fucking mutual

All a gun does is focus an explosion in one direction.

I wanted to burn the Louvre. I’d do the Elgin Marbles with a sledgehammer and wipe my ass with the Mona Lisa. This is my world, now.