He was full of pep. Must’ve had his grande-latte enema.
Narrator: I know it seems like I have more than one side sometimes.
Marla: More than one side? You’re Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Jackass!
And then, something happened. I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.
Narrator: When people think you’re dying, they really, really listen to you, instead of just…
Marla: – instead of just waiting for their turn to speak?
Strangers with this kind of honesty make me go a big rubbery one.
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.
This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time.
This isn’t a real suicide thing. This is probably one of those cry-for-help things.
She’s a predator posing as a house pet.
If you wake up at a different time in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?
Marla’s philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn’t.
I’ll bring us through this. As always. I’ll carry you – kicking and screaming – and in the end you’ll thank me.