“I am my own rakish seducer. I do serve as my own surly, brutish bounder.”

“I embrace my own festering diseased corruption,”

“I fainted....and you ate my ass?You fed me my own ass?”

“I am helpless.I am stupid, and all I do is want and need things.My tiny life. My little shit job. My Swedish furniture. I never, no, never told anyone this, but before I met Tyler, I was planning to buy a dog and name it "Entourage."This is how bad your life can get.”

“My hips bristle with totems and talismans, proof that I am not simply a character in a fixed book or film. I am no single narrative. As neither Rebecca de Winter nor Jane Eyre, I am free to revise my story, to reinvent myself, my world, at any given moment.”

“These are Tyler's words coming out of my mouth. I am Tyler's mouth. I am Tyler's hands.”

“You’ve thrown down the gauntlet. You’ve brought my wrath down upon your house. Now, to prove that I exist I must kill you. As the child outlives the father, so must the character bury the author. If you are, in fact, my continuing author, then killing you will end my existence as well. Small loss. Such a life, as your puppet, is not worth living.But… If I destroy you and your dreck script, and I still exist… then my existence will be glorious, for I will become my own master.”