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're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.

But Fight Club only exists in the hours between when Fight Club starts and when Fight Club ends. Even if I could tell someone they had a good fight, I would not be talking to the same man. Who you were in Fight Club is not who you were in the rest of the world.

It doesn't matter who we are. What matters is our plan.

See, you are what you are in this world, that's either one of two things. Either you're somebody, or you're nobody.

You could teach a dog to walk on its hind legs. It's still a dog.

The moonlight shows us for what we really are. We are not among the living, and so we cannot die. But neither are we dead. For too long I've been parched of thirst and unable to quench it. Too long I've been starving to death and haven't died. I feel nothing. Not the wind on my face nor the spray of the sea. Nor the warmth of a woman's flesh.

We are nothing more than the memories we keep... memories of overwhelming joy... profound sadness... gratitude... pride... grief... despair... remorse... passion... regret... Regret. Regret. But the strongest memories we carry with us are ones of love.

Shed your skin, find your life.