Norm: Hey, Woody, give me a refill, would you?
Woody: Coming up. You know, Mr. Peterson, you're amazing. How do you keep putting them away?
Norm: Well, it's all done with mirrors, son. I just never look in one.

Woody: Hey, everybody, I got a letter from my dog.
Sam: Pretty spiffy handwriting for a dog.
Woody: Well, it's not actually from my dog. My mom writes the letters as if they're from my dog, Truman.
Cliff: Weird beyond imagination, Norm.
Woody: Listen to this: "Dear Woody, Boy, what a great day I had. I pulled all the laundry off the line, chewed up your father's bowling shoes, and grabbed a Yankee pot roast off the table. Yum, yum. " Isn't that cute?
Norm: The mutt eats better than I do.
Woody: "By the way, now that you're not here to keep me in line, your mother's thinking about putting me to sleep. I certainly wouldn't blame her, and I don't want you to either after I'm gone." Sam, cover me. I gotta make a phone call.

Sam: What exactly would I have to do?
Carla: Just take him out and show him a great time, you know? A real night on the town. Wild, crazy, borderline illegal.
Sam: I guess I could handle that. Yeah, why not? It's about time the kid learned how much fun it was to play the field.
Carla: Right.
Norm: Hey, wait just a second here. Let's not give marriage a bad rap, huh? It's a fine institution. Matter of fact, go ahead and ask any single man here if he wouldn't gladly trade places with me for a night. Hmm? Anybody? Please. One night. Oh, come on, fellas. I'm offering transportation and a hot meal.