Diane: Sam, do yourself a favor. Go back to your tootsies and your rat parts. I'd hate to see the bowling alleys close on my account.
Sam: Hey, hey, wait a minute. Wait a minute. Are you saying that I'm too dumb to date smart women?
Diane: I'm saying that it would be very difficult for you. A really intelligent woman would see your line of BS a mile away.
Sam: You think so?
Diane: Uh-huh. Uh-huh.
Sam: You know, well, I've never met an intelligent woman that I'd want to date.
Diane: On behalf of the intelligent women around the world, may I just say... Phew.

Diane: Sam, now, it's true, hiring Norman has emotional overtones. But without emotions, the mind becomes a stagnant pond. And let's face it, in your case, we're not exactly dealing with white water rapids in the first place.

Diane: I am sorry that you're all so cynical that you can't accept Sam and me. Well, it doesn't bother us. We believe in us, right, Sam?
Sam: Yeah, you bet. It's going to be great. I may have to work harder on this one, but it's going to be worth it.
Diane: Thank you, Sam.
Sam: You're welcome.
Diane: Now, if you will excuse us, we are going to go out and begin our lives together. There's more to heaven and earth than is dreamt of in your beer mugs.

Diane: So that was your act of heroism? Mayday's moment of truth? Getting shot in the fanny while in flight from a jealous husband.
Sam: Hey, now, wait! Who said I was running away?
Diane: How else do you explain the location of your wound?
Sam: Well, I could have been coming at him and turned a somersault to throw off his aim.
Diane: You know, you're very lucky that you didn't get any brain damage.

Sam: Hey, Diane. Psst. You know, I've been thinking...
Diane: Have you? The odds makers take a beating again.

Diane: Well, I think I can help you out. Have a seat. A good conversationalist is usually a good listener. I've found that people love to talk about themselves.
Woody: Really?
Diane: Oh, yes. People have an endless fascination with their own little world. It's an observation I made as a small child, although I've never understood why it holds true. l, myself, have always found many more interesting topics to talk about. Of course, I've always made it a point to broaden my horizons. [Woody keeps checking his watch] As a matter of fact, I was reading the New York Times at the age of 4. And from then, on to the classics. Of course, it caused some hardships as a youngster, always being far and away the brightest in the class.
[As Diane goes to get a carton of milk, Woody leaves the bar and Cliff takes his seat]
Diane: Usually, the brightest in the class is regarded as some sort of a pimply faced egghead. I'm sorry, Clifford, what was your question again?

Diane: This is one of the most amateurish, hackneyed, odious pieces of effluvium ever to wash down the pike. Listen to this drivel. "l fly through a puckish arena, where echoes dance, where echoes dance, where echoes dance" This sounds familiar.
Norm: Well, you said it three times.
Diane: This poem is plagiarized.
Sam: Oh, now I stole it? And a minute ago, you said it stunk.
Diane: It does stink. Leave it to you to not have the sense to steal something worthwhile.
Sam: Aw, you know, I realize that it's tough to have somebody come along and swipe your dreams of glory, so I will not take offense at that remark.
Diane: That poem is fraudulent, and I intend to find its true source, even if I have to search through every greeting card to do so. [Sam laughs] Believe me, Sam Malone, I will not rest until today, the blackest day in the history of literature, is blotted out for all eternity.

Diane: I know that you must be curious about what Sam and I were talking about. We want to be totally honest with you. Um... [clears throat] It is said that fools rush in where wise men fear to tread. But the heart has a wisdom of its own and Sam and I have decided to traverse the fall line of our aloneness.
Carla: What's she talking about, Sammy?
Sam: I don't know. Is this what we were talking about in there?
Diane: Of course.
Sam: Uh, Diane and I have decided we're going to start messing around.

Sam: "Dear Sam. Although my tenure here has been one of value and enlightenment, still..."
Diane: Il faut cultiver notre jardin.
Sam: Come on! First of all, nobody resigns from a bar. And second of all, nobody resigns in Latin.
Cliff: It's French, Sammy.
Coach: What does it mean, Cliff?
Cliff: Well, because of the idiomatic peculiarities, it can't really be translated into English.
Diane: "One must cultivate one's own garden."
Cliff: Oh, oh, oh. Well, Diane, you took some liberties with the derogatory tense there, but I think we'll let it slide this time, huh?

Diane: Don't be coy. It doesn't go with the sloping forehead.
Sam: Did I tell you your boyfriend stopped by the other night? What's his name?
Diane: You know very well it's Frasier.
Sam: Frasier, right! Damn it. Boy, that's an easy name to forget. How are you two doing, anyway, huh?
Diane: Fine. Is there something on your mind?
Sam: No, why do you ask?
Diane: When there's a spot on an empty canvas, it tends to stand out.