Quotes

Narrator: You wake up at Seatac, SFO, LAX. You wake up at O'Hare, Dallas-Fort Worth, BWI. Pacific, mountain, central. Lose an hour, gain an hour. This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time. You wake up at Air Harbor International. If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?

Lou: [Lou hits Tyler in the face] Do you hear me now?

Tyler Durden: No, I didn't quite catch that, Lou.

[Lou hits Tyler again]

Tyler Durden: Still not getting it.

[Lou hits Tyler a few more times]

Tyler Durden: Ok, I got it. Shit, I lost it.

[Lou continues to beat up Tyler]

Tyler Durden: Fight Club was the beginning, now it's moved out of the basement, it's called Project Mayhem.

Tyler Durden: Now, a question of etiquette - as I pass, do I give you the ass or the crotch?

Tyler Durden: Hey, you created me. I didn't create some loser alter-ego to make myself feel better. Take some responsibility!

Tyler Durden: Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion?

Narrator: mumbles...

Tyler Durden: I'm sorry...

Narrator: I still can't think of anything.

Tyler Durden: Ah... flashback humor.

Tyler Durden: Fuck damnation, man! Fuck redemption! We are God's unwanted children? So be it!

Narrator: OK. Give me some water!

Tyler Durden: Listen, you can run water over your hand and make it worse or...

[shouts]

Tyler Durden: look at me... or you can use vinegar and neutralize the burn.

Narrator: Please let me have it... *Please*!

Tyler Durden: First you have to give up, first you have to *know*... not fear... *know*... that someday you're gonna die.

Robert 'Bob' Paulson: Go ahead, Cornelius, you can cry.

Tyler Durden: [pointing at an emergency instruction manual on a plane] You know why they put oxygen masks on planes?

Narrator: So you can breathe.

Tyler Durden: Oxygen gets you high. In a catastrophic emergency, you're taking giant panicked breaths. Suddenly you become euphoric, docile. You accept your fate. It's all right here. Emergency water landing - 600 miles an hour. Blank faces, calm as Hindu cows.

Narrator: That's, um... That's an interesting theory.

Marla Singer: Your whacked out bald freaks hit me with a fucking broom! They almost broke my arm! They were burning their fingertips with lye, the stink was unbelievable!

Narrator: Tyler, what the fuck is going on here?

Tyler Durden: I ask you for one thing, one simple thing.

Narrator: Why do people think that I'm you? Answer me!

Tyler Durden: Sit.

Narrator: Now answer me, why do people think that I'm you.

Tyler Durden: I think you know.

Narrator: No, I don't.

Tyler Durden: Yes, you do. Why would anyone possibly confuse you with me?

Narrator: Uh... I... I don't know.

[Random flashbacks]

Tyler Durden: You got it.

Narrator: No.

Tyler Durden: Say it.

Narrator: Because...

Tyler Durden: Say it.

Narrator: Because we're the same person.

Tyler Durden: That's right.

Narrator: I am Jack's smirking revenge.

Narrator: First person that comes out this fucking door gets a... gets a *lead salad*, you understand?

Narrator: [V.O] This is Bob. Bob had bitch tits.

[Camera pans to a REMAINING MEN TOGETHER sign]

Narrator: [V.O] This was a support group for men with testicular cancer. The big moosie slobbering all over me... that was Bob.

Robert 'Bob' Paulson: We're still men.

Narrator: [slightly muffled due to Bob's enormous breasts] Yes, we're men. Men is what we are.

Narrator: [V.O] Eight months ago, Bob's testicles were removed. Then hormone therapy. He developed bitch tits because his testosterone was too high and his body upped the estrogen. And that was where I fit...

Robert 'Bob' Paulson: They're gonna have to open my pecs again to drain the fluid.

Narrator: [V.O] Between those huge sweating tits that hung enormous, the way you'd think of God's as big.

Tyler Durden: [his last words] What's that smell?

Narrator: Oh, it's late. Hey, thanks for the beer.

Tyler Durden: Yeah, man.

Narrator: I should find a hotel.

Tyler Durden: [in disbelief] What?

Narrator: What?

Tyler Durden: A hotel?

Narrator: Yeah.

Tyler Durden: Just ask, man.

Narrator: What are you talking about?

Tyler Durden: [laughs] Three pitchers of beer, and you still can't ask.

Narrator: What?

Tyler Durden: You call me because you need a place to stay.

Narrator: Oh, hey, no, no, no, I didn't mean...

Tyler Durden: Yes, you did. So just ask. Cut the foreplay and just ask.

Narrator: Would - would that be a problem?

Tyler Durden: Is it a problem for you to ask?

Narrator: Can I stay at your place?

Tyler Durden: Yeah.

Tyler Durden: Where'd you go, psycho boy?

Narrator: I felt like destroying something beautiful.

Narrator: When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep... and you're never really awake.

Narrator: On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.

Narrator: [about the soap] Tyler sold his soap to department stores at $20 a bar. Lord knows what they charged. It was beautiful. We were selling rich women their own fat asses back to them.

[after meeting and having sex with Marla]

Tyler Durden: Man, you've got some fucked up friends, I'm tellin' ya. Limber, though...

Narrator: Well, what do you want me to do? You just want me to hit you?

Tyler Durden: C'mon, do me this one favor.

Narrator: Why?

Tyler Durden: Why? I don't know why; I don't know. Never been in a fight. You?

Narrator: No, but that's a good thing.

Tyler Durden: No, it is not. How much can you know about yourself, you've never been in a fight? I don't wanna die without any scars. So come on; hit me before I lose my nerve.

Narrator: This is crazy.

Tyler Durden: So go crazy. Let 'er rip.

Narrator: I don't know about this.

Tyler Durden: I don't either. Who gives a shit? No one's watching. What do you care?

Narrator: Whoa, wait, this is crazy. You want me to hit you?

Tyler Durden: That's right.

Narrator: What, like in the face?

Tyler Durden: Surprise me.

Narrator: This is so fucking stupid...

[Narrator swings, connects against Tyler's head]

Tyler Durden: Motherfucker! You hit me in the ear!

Narrator: Well, Jesus, I'm sorry.

Tyler Durden: Ow, Christ... why the ear, man?

Narrator: Guess I fucked it up...

Tyler Durden: No, that was perfect!

Narrator: [being embraced by Bob at the group therapy session for Testicular Cancer] Strangers with this kind of honesty make me go a big rubbery one.

[Tyler and Jack stand in the bathroom doorway, watching Steph finish shaving off all of his hair. Tyler comes to give the top of Steph's head a sharp slap]

Tyler Durden: Like a monkey, ready to be shot into space. Space monkey! Ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good.

Tyler Durden: From now on, all those with shaved heads: "Space Monkeys".

Narrator: A new car built by my company leaves somewhere traveling at 60 mph. The rear differential locks up. The car crashes and burns with everyone trapped inside. Now, should we initiate a recall? Take the number of vehicles in the field, A, multiply by the probable rate of failure, B, multiply by the average out-of-court settlement, C. A times B times C equals X. If X is less than the cost of a recall, we don't do one.

Business woman on plane: Are there a lot of these kinds of accidents?

Narrator: You wouldn't believe.

Business woman on plane: Which car company do you work for?

Narrator: A major one.

Tyler Durden: You have a kind of sick desperation in your laugh.

First Man at Auto Shop: Here's where the infant's head went through the wind-shield. Three points.

Man #2 at Auto Shop: The teenager's braces are still wrapped around the backseat ashtray. Might make a good anti-smoking ad.

First Man at Auto Shop: The driver must have been huge, see where the fat burned to the seat? The polyester shirt? Very modern art.

[they laugh]

Tyler Durden: Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.

[Holding up a wad of cash]

Marla Singer: You're not getting this back. I consider it asshole tax.

[meeting aboard an airliner]

Narrator: What do you do for a living?

Tyler Durden: Why? So you can pretend like you're interested?

Narrator: I am Jack's raging bile duct.

Narrator: A guy who came to Fight Club for the first time, his ass was a wad of cookie dough. After a few weeks, he was carved out of wood.

Narrator: After fighting, everything else in your life got the volume turned down.

Tyler Durden: Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing. Like the first monkey shot into space.

Tyler Durden: Do you know what a duvet is?

Narrator: It's a comforter...

Tyler Durden: It's a blanket. Just a blanket. Now why do guys like you and me know what a duvet is? Is this essential to our survival, in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word? No. What are we then?

Narrator: ...Consumers?

Tyler Durden: Right. We are consumers. We're the bi-products of a lifestyle obsession.

Narrator: [reading] I am Jack's colon.

Tyler Durden: I get cancer, I kill Jack.

Narrator: I'll tell you: we'll split up the week, okay? You take lymphoma, and tuberculosis...

Marla Singer: You take tuberculosis. My smoking doesn't go over at all.

Narrator: Okay, good, fine. Testicular cancer should be no contest, I think.

Marla Singer: Well, technically, I have more of a right to be there than you. You still have your balls.

Narrator: You're kidding.

Marla Singer: I don't know... am I?

Narrator: No, no! What do you want?

Marla Singer: I'll take the parasites.

Narrator: You can't have both the parasites, but while you take the blood parasites...

Marla Singer: I want brain parasites.

Narrator: I'll take the blood parasites. But I'm gonna take the organic brain dementia, okay?

Marla Singer: I want that.

Narrator: You can't have the whole brain, that's...

Marla Singer: So far you have four, I only have two!

Narrator: Okay. Take both the parasites. They're yours. Now we both have three...

Marla Singer: So, we each have three... that's six. What about the seventh day? I want ascending bowel cancer.

Narrator: [Narrating] The girl had done her homework.

Narrator: No. No, I WANT bowel cancer.

[the clerk gives them both a weird look]

Marla Singer: That's your favorite too? Tried to slip it by me, eh?

Narrator: I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.

[the narrator pulls a loose tooth out of his mouth]

Narrator: Fuck.

Tyler Durden: Hey, even the Mona Lisa's falling apart.

Narrator: Look, nobody takes this more seriously than me. That condo was my life, okay? I loved every stick of furniture in that place. That was not just a bunch of stuff that got destroyed, it was ME!

[voice-over]

Narrator: I'd like to thank the Academy...

Narrator: I am Jack's inflamed sense of rejection.

Narrator: I am Jack's broken heart.

[last lines]

Narrator: You met me at a very strange time in my life.

Narrator: Was it ticking?

Airport Security Officer: Actually throwers don't worry about ticking 'cause modern bombs don't tick.

Narrator: Sorry, throwers?

Airport Security Officer: Baggage handlers. But, when a suitcase vibrates, then the throwers gotta call the police.

Narrator: My suitcase was vibrating?

Airport Security Officer: Nine times out of ten it's an electric razor, but every once in a while...

[whispering]

Airport Security Officer: it's a dildo. Of course it's company policy never to, imply ownership in the event of a dildo... always use the indefinite article a dildo, never your dildo.

Narrator: I don't own...

[Officer waves Narrator off]

Narrator: I got in everyone's hostile little face. Yes, these are bruises from fighting. Yes, I'm comfortable with that. I am enlightened.

Narrator: Except for their humping, Tyler and Marla were never in the same room. My parents pulled this exact same act for years.

Marla Singer: I got this dress at a thrift store for one dollar.

Narrator: It was worth every penny.

Marla Singer: It's a bridesmaid's dress. Someone loved it intensely for one day, and then tossed it. Like a Christmas tree. So special. Then, bam, it's on the side of the road.

[Grabs Narrator's crotch]

Marla Singer: Tinsel still clinging to it. Like a sex crime victim. Underwear inside out. Bound with electrical tape.

Narrator: Well, then it suits you.

Marla Singer: You can borrow it sometime.

[Of Marla]

Tyler Durden: She's a predator posing as a house pet.

Narrator: You had to give it to him: he had a plan. And it started to make sense, in a Tyler sort of way. No fear. No distractions. The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide.

Tyler Durden: [his face is soaked in blood; he is shaking it over Lou and screaming] You don't know where I've been. You don't know where I've been. Just let us have the basement, Lou!

Narrator: And then, Tyler was gone.

Richard Chesler: [Reading a piece of paper] The first rule of Fight Club is you don't talk about Fight Club?

Narrator: [Voice-over] I'm half asleep again; I must've left the original in the copy machine.

Richard Chesler: The second rule of Fight Club - is this yours?

Narrator: Huh?

Richard Chesler: Pretend you're me, make a managerial decision: you find this, what would you do?

Narrator: [pauses] Well, I gotta tell you: I'd be very, very careful who you talk to about that, because the person who wrote that... is dangerous.

[Gets up from the chair]

Narrator: [Talking slowly] And this button-down, Oxford-cloth psycho might just snap, and then stalk from office to office with an Armalite AR-10 carbine gas-powered semi-automatic weapon, pumping round after round into colleagues and co-workers. This might be someone you've known for years. Someone very, very close to you.

Narrator: [Voice-over] Tyler's words coming out of my mouth.

[Snatches the piece of paper from boss' hands]

Narrator: [Voice-over] And I used to be such a nice guy.

Narrator: Or maybe you shouldn't bring me every little piece of trash you happen to pick up.

[Phone rings]

Narrator: [Into phone] Compliance and Liability...?

Marla Singer: My tit's gonna rot off.

Narrator: [to boss] Would you excuse me? I need to take this.

Narrator: What are we doing tonight?

Tyler Durden: Tonight? We make soap.

Narrator: Really.

Tyler Durden: To make soap, first we render fat.

Narrator: I know it seems like I have more than one side sometimes...

Marla Singer: More than one side? You're Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Jackass!

Narrator: Marla's philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn't.

Marla Singer: [after taking a bottle of sleeping pills] This isn't a real suicide-thing. This is probably one of those cry-for-help things.

[to the Narrator who has just fired a warning shot into the window of an explosives filled van]

Tyler Durden: WHOA! WHOA! WHOA! Ok, you are now firing a gun at your 'imaginary friend' near 400 GALLONS OF NITROGLYCERINE!

Tyler Durden: I'll bring us through this. As always. I'll carry you - kicking and screaming - and in the end you'll thank me.

Narrator: Every evening I died, and every evening I was born again, resurrected.

[about Tyler splicing frames of pornography into family films]

Narrator: So when the snooty cat, and the courageous dog, with the celebrity voices meet for the first time in reel three, that's when you'll catch a flash of Tyler's contribution to the film.

[the audience is watching the film, the pornography flashes for a split second]

Narrator: Nobody knows that they saw it, but they did...

Tyler Durden: A nice, big cock...

[several audience members look rattled, a little girl is crying]

Narrator: Even a hummingbird couldn't catch Tyler at work.

Narrator: You're insane.

Tyler Durden: No, you're insane.

Narrator: Bob had bitch tits.

[while narrator is on the phone]

Tyler Durden: Reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of material possessions.

Tyler Durden: You're too old, fat man. Your tits are too big.

[Tyler walks away, throwing his cigarette]

Tyler Durden: Get the fuck off my porch.

Narrator: Tyler, I'm grateful to you; for everything that you've done for me. But this is too much. I don't want this.

Tyler Durden: What do you want? Wanna go back to the shit job, fuckin' condo world, watching sitcoms? Fuck you, I won't do it.

Narrator: Clean food, please.

Waiter: In that case, sir, may I advise against the lady eating clam chowder?

Narrator: No clam chowder, thank you.

Narrator: If I didn't say anything, people always assumed the worst.

Narrator: Most of the week we were Ozzie and Harriet, but every Saturday night we were finding something out: we were finding out more and more that we were not alone. It used to be that when I came home angry and depressed I'd just clean my condo, polish my Scandinavian furniture. I should have been looking for a new condo. I should have been haggling with my insurance company. I should have been upset about my nice, neat, flaming little shit. But I wasn't.

Tyler Durden: Just tell him you fuckin' did it. Tell him you blew it all up. That's what he wants to hear.

Narrator: You're making a big mistake, fellas!

Police Officer: You said you would say that.

Narrator: I'm not Tyler Durden!

Police Officer: You told us you'd say that, too.

Narrator: All right then, I'm Tyler Durden. Listen to me, I'm giving you a direct order. We're aborting this mission right now.

Police Officer: You said you would definitely say that.

Narrator: Tyler was now involved in a class action lawsuit against the Pressman Hotel over the urine content of their soup.

Narrator: Home was a condo on the fifteenth floor of a filing cabinet for widows and young professionals. The walls were solid concrete. A foot of concrete is important when your next-door neighbor lets their hearing aid go and have to watch game-shows at full volume. Or when a volcanic blast of debris that used to be your furniture and personal effects blows out of your floor-to-ceiling windows and sails flaming into the night. I suppose these things happen.

Richard Chesler: Get the fuck out of here, you're fired!

Narrator: I have a better solution. You keep me on the payroll as an outside consultant and in exchange for my salary, my job will be never to tell people these things that I know. I don't even have to come into the office, I can do this job from home.

[after giving Marla a breast exam]

Marla Singer: I wish I could return the favor.

Narrator: There's not a lot of breast cancer in the men in my family.

Marla Singer: I could check your prostate.

Tyler Durden: Well you did lose a lot of versatile solutions for modern living

Narrator: It's called a changeover. The movie goes on, and nobody in the audience has any idea.

Tyler Durden: [the Narrator is trying to disarm a car bomb of nitroglycerin] You don't know which wire to pull.

Narrator: I know everything you do, so if you know I know.

Tyler Durden: Or maybe, since I knew you'd know I spent all days thinking about the wrong wires.

[Narrator pauses]

Doctor: You wanna see pain? Swing by First Methodist Tuesday nights. See the guys with testicular cancer. That's pain.

Tyler Durden: Now, ancient people found their clothes got cleaner if they washed them at a certain spot in the river. You know why?

Narrator: No.

Tyler Durden: Human sacrifices were once made on the hills above this river. Bodies burnt, water speeded through the wood ashes to create lye.

[holds up a bottle]

Tyler Durden: This is lye - the crucial ingredient. The lye combined with the melted fat of the bodies, till a thick white soapy discharge crept into the river. May I see your hand, please?

[Tyler licks his lips until they're gleaming wet - he takes the Narrator's hand and kisses the back of it]

Narrator: What is this?

Tyler Durden: This...

[pours the lye on the Narrator's hand]

Tyler Durden: ... is chemical burn.

Narrator: Tyler's not here. Tyler went away. Tyler's gone.

Narrator: You're fucking Marla, Tyler.

Tyler Durden: Uh, technically, you're fucking Marla, but it's all the same to her.

Angel Face: Bury him in the garden. Come on people, let's go!

Narrator: Get away from him! Get the fuck away!

Angel Face: He was killed serving Project Mayhem, sir.

Narrator: This is Bob. He was a decent man, and we're not gonna bury him in the fucking garden!

Ricky: I can't believe he's still standing.

Thomas: One tough motherfucker.

Narrator: I had it all. Even the glass dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections, proof they were crafted by the honest, simple, hard-working indigenous peoples of... wherever.

Angel Face: [the Narrator is about to look at some files but Angel Face stops him] Don't worry. It's all taken care of, sir.

Narrator: When the fight was over, nothing was solved, but nothing mattered. We all felt saved.

Narrator: Like so many others, I had become a slave to the Ikea nesting instinct.

Narrator: I've found a new one. For men *only*.

Marla Singer: Oh, is it a testicle thing?

Narrator: What do you do?

Tyler Durden: What do you mean?

Narrator: What do you do for a living?

Tyler Durden: Why? So you can pretend like you're interested?

Narrator: Do you want me to deprioritize my current reports until you advise me of a status upgrade?

Richard Chesler: Yes. Make these your primary action items.

Narrator: I wrote little haiku poems. I emailed them to everyone.

Tyler Durden: If you could fight anyone, who would you fight?

Narrator: Shatner. I'd fight William Shatner.

Lou: *punches Tyler in face* You here me now?

Tyler Durden: Alright, alright, I got it. I got it - shit I lost it.

Narrator: What do you want me to do? You want me to hit you?

Tyler Durden: Come on, do me this one favor.

Narrator: Why?

Tyler Durden: Why? I don't know why, I don't know. Never been in a fight, you?

Narrator: No, but that's a good thing.

Tyler Durden: No, man it's not. How much can you know yourself if you've never been in a fight? I don't wanna die with out any scars.

Tyler Durden: This is your pain. This is your burning hand. It's right here. Look at it.

Narrator: I'm going to my cave. I'm going to my cave and I'm going to find my power animal.

Tyler Durden: No! Don't deal with this the way those dead people do. Deal with it the way a living person does.

Narrator: You know what, I really think it's time you got out of here.

Marla Singer: Oh don't worry, I'm leaving.

Narrator: Not that we don't enjoy your little visits...

Marla Singer: You know you are such a nutcase, I can't even begin to keep up!

Tyler Durden: WHOA! WHOA! OK, you are now firing a gun at your imaginary friend NEAR 400 GALLONS OF NITROGLYCERIN!

Tyler Durden: This isn't love, it's sport fucking.