Tyler: An exit-door procedure at 30.000 feet. Mm-hmm. The illusion of safety.
Tyler: You know why the put oxygen masks on planes? Narrator: So you can breathe. Tyler: 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 per hour. Blank faces. Calm as Hindu cows.
Narrator: What do you do for a living? Tyler: Why? So you can pretend like you're interested?
Tyler: You have a kind of sick desperation in your laugh.
Tyler: I make and I sell soap. The yardstick of civilisation.
Tyler: Did you know if you mixed equal parts of gasoline and frozen orange juice concentrate, you can make napalm? Narrator: No, I did not know that, is that true? Tyler: That's right. One can make all kinds of explosives using simple household items.
Tyler: Ah, now a question of etiquette: As I pass, do I give you the ass or the crotch?
Tyler: You know man, it could be worse. A woman could cut off your penis while you're sleeping and toss it out the window of a moving car.
Tyler: We're consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty... These things don't concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with five hundred channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra. Narrator: Martha Stewart. Tyler: Fuck Martha Stewart. Martha's polishing the brass on the Titanic. It's all going down, man! So fuck off, with your sofa units and Strinne green stripe patterns. I say never be complete. I say stop being perfect. I say let-let's evolve, let the chips fall where they may.
Tyler: The things you own, end up owning you.
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 the flash of Tyler's contribution in the film. Nobody knows that they saw it, but they did. Tyler: A nice, big cock. Narrator: Even a hummingbird couldn't catch Tyler at work.
Narrator: Apart from seasoning the lobster bisque, he farted on meringues, he sneezed on braised endive, and as for the creme of mushroom soup, well...
Tyler (Off Screen): Go ahead, tell 'em. Narrator: You get the idea.
Tyler: How much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight? I don't want to die without any scars.
Tyler: We're a generation of men raised by women. I'm wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.
Tyler: Gentlemen! Welcome to Fight Club. 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.
Tyler: Ahh, self-improvement is masturbation. Now, self-destruction...
Narrator: [pulls out tooth] Fuck. Tyler: Hey, even the Mona Lisa's falling apart.
Tyler: Oh, you got some fucked up friends, I'm telling you! Limber though... Silly cooze.
Tyler: Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.
Tyler: Tonight... We make soap. Narrator: Really? Tyler: To make soap, first we render fat.
Tyler: The salt balance has to be just right, so the best fat for making soap, comes from humans... Narrator: Wait, what is this place? Tyler: A liposuction clinic. [...] Aha! Pay dirt! The richest creamiest fat in the world! Fat of the land!
Tyler: Once the tallow hardens, you skim off a layer of glycerin. If you were to add nitric acid, you got nitroglycerin. If you were then to add sodium nitrate and a dash of sawdust, you got dynamite. Yeah, with enough soap we could blow up just about anything.
Tyler: Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing.
Tyler: Our fathers were our models for God. If our fathers bailed, what does that tell you about God? Listen to me. You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you.
Tyler: First you have to give up. First, you have to know, not fear, know that someday you're gonna die. Until you know that, you are useless.
Tyler: It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.
Tyler: I look around, I look around. I see a lot of new faces. Shut up! Which means a lot of you've been breaking the first two rules of Fight Club. Man, I see in Fight Club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential. And I see it squandered. Goddamn it, an entire generation pumping gas. Waiting tables. They're slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes. Working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We are the middle children of history, man. 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. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'll all be millionaires and movie gods and rock stars. But we won't. And we're learning slowly that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.
Tyler: Hey. You should join our club.
Lou: Did you hear what I just said? Tyler: You and your friend.
Lou punches Tyler
Lou: You hear me now? Tyler: No, I didn't quite catch that, Lou.
Lou punches Tyler Tyler: Oh! Still not getting it.
Lou punches Tyler Tyler: Ahh!! Ok, ok, I got it, I got it, I got it. Shit, I lost it.
Tyler: Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of Raymond K. Hessel's life. His breakfast will taste better than any meal you and I have ever tasted.
Narrator (voice over): You had to give it to him. Tyler: Come on.
Narrator (voice over): 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: You are not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.
Tyler: Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else. We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. We are all part of the same compost heap.
Tyler: Do not fuck with us.
Tyler: Hitting bottom isn't a weekend-retreat, it's not a goddamn seminar. Stop trying to control everything and just let go! Let go!
Tyler: Goddamn! We just had a near-life experience!
Tyler: In the world I see... You're stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that'll last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-think kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn. Laying strips of venison on the empty car-pool lane of some abandoned superhighway...
Tyler: You were looking for a way to change your life. You could not do this on your own. All the ways you wished you could be... That's me. I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I am smart, capable and most importantly, I'm free in all the ways that you are not.
Narrator: Marla... You're fucking Marla, Tyler. Tyler: Uhh... Technically, you're fucking Marla, but it's all the same to her.
Narrator: Bob is dead! They shot him in the head! Tyler: You wanna make an omelette, you gotta break some eggs.
[Narrator shoots at Tyler] Tyler: Whoa! Whoa! Ok! You are now firing a gun at your imaginary friend, near 400 gallons of nitroglycerin!!!
Tyler: Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion? Narrator: [mumbles] Tyler: I'm sorry? Narrator: I still can't think of anything. Tyler: Ah, flashback humor.
Tyler: I didn't create some loser alter-ego to make my self feel better. Take some responsibility.
Tyler: Have I ever let us down? How far have you come because of me? I will bring us through this. As always, I will carry you kicking and screaming and in the end, you'll thank me.