Jack (the Narrator)

Fight club wasn't about winning or losing. It wasn't about words. The hysterical shouting was in tongues... Like at a pentecostal church. When the fight was over, nothing was solved. But nothing mattered. Afterwards, we all felt saved.

— What do you do for a living?
— Soap.
— Sorry?
— I make and I sell soap. The yardstick of civilization.

— I wanna know what you're thinking.
— Fuck what you know! Forget about what you think you know about life, friendship... And especially about you and me.

Being there, pressed against his tits, ready to cry. This was my vacation.

— Murder, crime, poverty. These things don't concern me. What concerns me, are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine. Viagra. Olestra.
— Martha Stewart.
— 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.

A movie doesn't come all on one big reel. It comes on a few. So someone has to be there to switch the projectors, at the exact moment that one reel ends and the next one begins. If you look for them, you can see little dots, come into the upper right corner of the screen. That's the cue for a changeover. He flips the projectors, movie keeps right on going and nobody in the audience has any idea.

People are always ask me if I know Tyler Durden.