Fathers. Mothers. With All Their Caring And

Skin, Bones, Blood And Organs Transplant From Person To Person. Even What’s Inside You Already, The Colonies Of Microbes And Bugs That Eat Your Food For You, Without Them You’d Die. Nothing Of You Is All-the-way Yours. All Of You Is Inherited. Whatever You’re Thinking, A Million Other Folks Are Thinking. Whatever You Do, They’re Doing, And None Of You Is Responsible. All Of You Is A Cooperative Effort.

It's Interesting Because When David Fincher Was Making "fight Club," He Said, "it's A Romance." And It Really Is. Almost Everything I Ever Write Is Just A Romance. And That Needed To Be Sort Of Pointed Up At The End Of "fight Club." The Film Has A Very Different Ending Than The Book Does.

I'm Only Confrontational With My Friends.

I Ran. I Ran Until My Muscles Burned And My Veins Pumped Battery Acid. Then I Ran Some More.

"this Isn’t Really Death," Tyler Says, "we’ll Be Legend. We Won’t Grow Old." I Tongue The Barrel Into My Cheek And Say, Tyler, You’re Thinking Of Vampires.