Eric: Seniors with their muscles and their cars and their Burger King trainee hats.

Amy: Surely the army can make do without one of my men?
Eric: They wouldn't take me. I have flatfeet and I'm ticklish. Apparently I'm a torture risk.

Jack: By the way, that last paper you wrote, I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Eric: That's because it was smut! "My lips quivered." - it was filth. It was screamy filth.

Mr. Feeny: I need you to proctor.
Eric: Me? Proctor? Proctor Matthews.
Mr. Feeny: You know what proctor is?
Eric: Yeah, it's a tushie doctor.

Jack: I would have loved to have you by my side.
Eric: You still can, pal. Here, it's a picture of me. I want you to bring it with you, put it in the foxhole of your bed.
Jack: People will talk.
Eric: I know. That's a great picture.

Eric: Eerie how she always knows, huh?
Cory: What, do all women have antennas hidden somewhere on their bodies?
Eric: I don't know. None of them will let me look.

Eric: Yes, you see dinner and a movie is the premiere form of dating entertainment. Dinner, movie. Movie, dinner. Dinner, dinner. Movie, movie.

Eric: Oh, Mr. Feeny? He's my next door neighbor. And he used to be my teacher. And he's real concerned about where my life is going. What would you call that?
Bartender: I'd call that a friend.
Eric: Yeah? Feeny, friend? Okay.

Eric: I'm telling you, if there's one thing I know, it's people, okay. I've lived among them. It's like a fifth sense.
Jack: You mean sixth sense?
Eric: No, dude, that's smell. You've got to be lucky to get that.

Eric: Feeny?! Feeny's in love! With who? ... Feeny and the Dean! That's why she won't go out with me. She likes you.