Norm: You got the cheering under control. I'll mosey up to the bar for a beer.
Cliff: You're gonna miss the game, Norm.
Norm: Then that's a perfect plan, huh?
Sam: Hey, Cliffie, how're we doing here?
Cliff: Fifty pins down, sinking like a stone, Sammy.
[Norm walks into the bowling alley bar:]
All: [o.s.] Norm!
Sam: How the hell do they know him here?
Cliff: He's got a life, you know.

Diane: Excuse me, but you've obviously come here to belittle my friends. Why? I can only speculate. Perhaps you're compensating for some physical shortcoming. I don't know. But it's tragic that you place such stock in a silly competition. What of higher attainments? What of loftier pursuits? What of art? And philosophy? What of music?
Gary: I graduated magna cum laude in American Literature from Princeton.
Diane: Oh? Couldn't make summa?

Diane: Ah, the alleys. Thanks. It's really a sensory experience, you know. The scent of Aqua Net on a beehive hairdo. The roar of polyester against old Naugahyde. The sight of a cigarette stubbed out in a patty melt. All this, plus the anticipation of placing your feet in shoes only 7,000 others have worn before you.