Dr. Green: How about I order everyone the Moroccan chicken.
Phoebe: Oh, I don't eat meat.
Dr. Green: It's chicken.
Phoebe: Yeah, I don't eat that either.
Dr. Green: I'll never understand you lesbians.

Dr. Green: This is unacceptable, Rachel. And I wanna know why! Is it because that punk, Ross, won't marry you? That's it. Is that it?
Rachel: Yes. Yes. He says I'm damaged goods.

Dr. Green: You think you can knock up my daughter and then not marry her? I ought to kill you!
Ross: You know, this is actually not a great time for me.

Dr. Green: So, come on. Explain yourself, Geller. First you get my Rachel pregnant.
Mona: You got Rachel pregnant?
Ross: Who did?
Dr. Green: You did!
Ross: Yes, I did. Yes, but it was just a one-night thing. It meant nothing.
Dr. Green: Oh? Really? That's what my daughter means to you, nothing?
Ross: No, no. No, sir. She means a lot to me. I care- I love Rachel.
Mona: What?
Ross: But not that way. I mean, I'm not in love with her. I love her like a friend.
Dr. Green: Oh, really? That's how you treat a friend? You get her in trouble and then refuse to marry her?
Ross: Hey, I offered to marry her.
Mona: What?
Ross: But I didn't want to.
Dr. Green: Well, why not? So you could spend your time with this tramp?
Mona: Tramp?
Ross: I'm sorry. Dr. Green, Mona. Mona, Dr. Green.

Ross: Uh, did the TV wake you?
Dr. Green: No. When you put your feet up on my bed, you tucked on my catheter.
Ross: Ouchy.

Rachel: Hi, Daddy.
Dr. Green: Baby.
Ross: Dr. Green, how are you?
Dr. Green: Thanks for dinner last night.
Ross: Thank you for teaching me a valuable lesson.
Dr. Green: Nice hair. What did you do, swim here?

Dr. Green: What is this? Who put a 20 down here?
Ross: Oh, yeah, that would be me. I have a problem. I tip way too much. Way too much. It's a sickness, really.
Rachel: Yeah, it is. We really, really have to do something about that.
Dr. Green: Excuse me. You think I'm cheap?
Rachel: No, Daddy, he didn't mean anything by that. He really didn't.
Ross: Nothing I do means anything. Really.
Dr. Green: This is nice. I pay $200 for dinner. You put down $20 and you come out looking like Mr. Big Shot. You really want to be Mr. Big Shot? Here. I'll tell you what. You pay the whole bill, Mr. Big Shot. All right?
Ross: [to Rachel] Well, "Mr. Big Shot" is better than "Wet-Head."

Dr. Green: Her legs are fine.
Ross: I know that.
Dr. Green: So why do you let her go to a chiropractor?
Rachel: I'm sorry, "let her"?
Ross: What can I do? She doesn't listen to me about renter's insurance, either.
Dr. Green: Wait a minute. You don't have renter's insurance?
Rachel: No.
Dr. Green: What if someone steals something? How you gonna run after him, with one leg shorter than the other?

Rachel: Excuse me, Dr. Bobby happens to be an excellent doctor.
Dr. Green: Wait a minute. His name is Dr. Bobby?
Rachel: That's his last name.
Ross: And his first name.
Dr. Green: He's Bobby Bobby?
Rachel: It's Robert Bobby. And excuse me, he helps me.
Ross: Please. Ask her how?
Dr. Green: What do you need help for?
Rachel: My alignment. I've got one leg shorter than the other.
Dr. Green: Oh, my God.
Ross: Argue with that.
Rachel: What? It's true. My right leg is two inches shorter.
Dr. Green: Come on, you're just tilting!