Mr. Feeny: Well, Shawn marrying Topanga. This is weird. On the other hand, who would have thought that as principal I could perform marriages?

Cory: You listened to Feeny.
Shawn: Oh my God, I listened to Feeny.

Eric: Everybody's doing their part in this war. I want to help. I'm going to go back to that recruitment office and tell them that a little case of flat feet isn't going to stop Eric Matthews from fighting those evil Canadians.

Cory: Golly, you can drive from Philly to Cleveland in a week but they don't have a machine that can take a message.

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.

Shawn: Hey, if I had things my way, Cory would walk in the day after the honeymoon and have the whole thing annulled.

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.

Mr. Feeny: Oh, and during the lull in the fighting, I'd like a thousand-word essay on what I did during my summer in Europe.

Shawn: Cory, we're going down to enlist. Uncle Sam wants us. I wasn't going to go but he was pointing right at me.

Mr. Feeny: Don't say ain't, your mother will faint. Just because you're in the army, you don't have to talk like a sailor.