We all want to explain ourselves. Nobody wants to be forgotten.

We want you, not your money. As long as you're at fight club, you're not how much money you've got in the bank. You're not your job. You're not your family, and you're not who you tell yourself. You're not your name. You're not your problems. You're not your age. You are not your hopes. You will not be saved. We are all going to die, someday.

It's not love or anything, but I think I like you, too.

Your folks are god, you love them and you want to make them happy but you still want to make up your own rules.

Mylife might be little and boring, but at least it’s mine - not some assembly-line, secondhand, hand-me-down life.

There was no real sense of life because she had nothing to contrast it with.

New carpet will exude poisonous formaldehyde for up to two years after it'd been laid. I know the feeling.