Marla: There are things about you that I like. You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re… spectacular in bed… But you’re intolerable! You have very serious emotional problems, deep seated problems for which you should seek professional help.
Narrator: I know, and I’m sorry…
Marla: Yeah, you’re sorry, I’m sorry, everybody’s sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. And I won’t. I’m gone.
All the ways you wish you could be, that’s me. I look like you wanna look, I f*ck like you wanna f*ck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not.
He was full of pep. Must’ve had his grande-latte enema.
Narrator: I know it seems like I have more than one side sometimes.
Marla: More than one side? You’re Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Jackass!
And then, something happened. I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.
Strangers with this kind of honesty make me go a big rubbery one.
The first rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club. Third rule of Fight Club: someone yells stop, goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule: no shirts, no shoes. Seventh rule: fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule: if this is your first night at fight-club, you have to fight.
This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time.
This isn’t a real suicide thing. This is probably one of those cry-for-help things.
Self improvement is masturbation. Now self destruction…
Marla… the little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can’t.
She’s a predator posing as a house pet.