Debra: You are such a pessimist.
Ray: I am not a pessimist.
Debra: Oh, no? You are incapable of seeing the good in anything. What is that called?
Ray: A realist. And I can see the good in a lot of things, okay? How about last year when we went skiing and I didn't break anything?
Debra: That's because you sat in the lodge the whole time, saying: "I don't wanna break anything."
Ray: I enjoyed it in my own way. I liked the hot chocolate. Although, I hear now that fake sweetener stuff will kill you. It's crazy.

Debra: Ray, what is wrong with you? This isn't a lame event. This is a black-tie, prestigious thing. And if you win, it could really be good for your career.
Ray: No, come on. Good for my career? No. Awards mean nothing, all right? Best thing to do is just forget about it.
Debra: You think you're gonna lose.
Ray: Of course!
Debra: But this is so fantastic, Ray. Look at this: "Sportswriter of the Year." I mean, this is great just to be nominated.
Ray: "It's great just to be nominated." That's what the loser says. That's the title of the loser handbook.
Debra: Have you ever thought of something? You might actually win this.
Ray: Look, Debra, don't make me want this.
Debra: It's okay to want things, Ray.
Ray: No, you're wrong. Right now, my expectations are right here, this high. When I fall from here I sprain an ankle, I limp away. That's all. If I fall from where you're talking about... splat. I'm Splat, the loser. "Hey, any words for us, Splat?" "It was great just to be nominated."

Debra: Ice cream.
Ray: Fat.
Debra: See. Right to the negative. Beach.
Ray: Sunburn.
Debra: Marriage.
Ray: Counselor.
Debra: Bad.
Ray: Worse.
Debra: Steak.
Ray: Stroke.
Debra: Sex.
Ray: Twins.
Debra: I think I proved my point.