Quotes from Chuck Palahniuk

The se­cret is to not let your imag­ina­tion get car­ried away.

We're the middle children of the history, no purpose or place, we have no Great war, no Great depression, our great war is a spiritual war, our great depression is our lives

You're about as one-of-a-kind as a dollar bill.

If she was going to die, Marla didn't want to know about it.

Everyone wants to feel special - attain a special status among their pears- but not too special. Most kids want to be special the same way their friends are

The way to get a babe to act in a blue movie is you offer her a million dollars. The way to get a dude is you just have to ask him.

You are not special. You're not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else.

There were jobs so bor­ing, you'd find ways to crip­ple your­self so you couldn't work.

If you were my student, I'd tell you to shift as needed between the three POVs. Not constantly, but as appropriate to control authority, intimacy, and pace.

I suppose it's a comfort, perhaps a sense of self-control, doing worse damage to yourself then the world will ever dare inflict.

With all the lit­tle facts we learned, we nev­er had the time to think. None of us ev­er con­sid­ered what life would be like clean­ing up af­ter a stranger ev­ery day. Wash­ing dish­es all day. Feed­ing a stranger's chil­dren. Mow­ing a lawn. All day. Paint­ing hous­es. Year af­ter year.

Yeah, parents will always fuck you up.

And I say no. The problem is the light, the dim light down here. Cupped in the palm of my hand, the cyanide and the wood pill, I can't tell which is which. What's sex and what's death—I can't tell the difference. I ask which one to give her. And Mr. Bacardi leans in to look, both of us breathing hot, damp air into my open hand.

All these stupid rocks, I say, what's your goal? This isn't about getting something done, Denny says. It's about the doing, you know, the process. But what are you going to do with all these rocks? And Denny says, I don't know until I collect enough. But what's enough? I say. I don't know, dude, Denny says, I just want the days of my life to add up to something.

Making all effort resist absorption into American cult of the individual, traditional method entrenched oligarchy so maintain own power: Fracture citizen isolated into different religion, different race, different family. Label as rich cultural diversity. Cleave as unique until each citizen stand alone. Until each vote invested no value. Single citizen celebrated as special-in actual, remaining no power.

Cancer will be like that, I tell Marla. There will be mistakes, and maybe the point is not to forget the rest of yourself if one little part might go bad.

Tyler, I'm grateful to you; for everything that you've done for me. But this is too much. I don't want this. What do you want? Wanna go back to the shit job, fuckin' condo world, watching sitcoms? Fuck you, I won't do it.

Her goals had been the goals of radical women a century ago: to become a lawyer . . . to compete toe-to-toe with men. But like any second-hand goal, it felt like a burden. It had already been fulfilled ten million times over by other women. Penny wanted a dream of her own, but she had no idea how that dream would look.

Flattery is addictive. Convince others they are special. Assure them they have talent. Make yourself the source of people's self worth. Doing so binds them to you and it preempts them from developing their skills and proving their true potential.

We were all so wor­ried about our worst fears, squeez­ing frogs, eat­ing worms, poi­sons, as­bestos, we nev­er con­sid­ered how bor­ing life would be even if we suc­ceed­ed and got a good job.

The main thing I wor­ry about in pub­lic is maybe peo­ple can tell I'm a sur­vivor.

Still screaming. As if the stars give a shit.

Imag­ine how you'd feel if your whole life turned in­to a job you couldn't stand.

Somewhere in heaven, you're on a live video Web site for God to surf.