You're Doomed At Being You.

The Damaged Loves The Damaged.

And It [fight Club Novel] Was Written So General That My Father Thought I Was Writing About His Father, And My Boss Thought I Was Writing About His Boss. People Really Put Themselves, You Know, In The Shoes Of The Narrator.

Still, It's Nice To Have One Person Who Knows All Your Secrets.

Unless We Have That Moment Of Chaos, Followed By The Emotional Release Of Realization, Nothing Will Be Remembered.

It's Creepy, But Here We Are, The Pilgrims, The Crackpots Of Our Time, Trying To Establish Our Own Alternate Reality. To Build A World Out Of Rocks And Chaos. What It's Going To Be, I Don't Know. Even After All That Rushing Around, Where We've Ended Up Is The Middle Of Nowhere In The Middle Of The Night. And Maybe Knowing Isn't The Point. Where We're Standing Right Now, In The Ruins In The Dark, What We Build Could Be Anything.