Rachel: The bottom line, Ross, is we cannot stay married.
Ross: I don't know if that's true.
Rachel: Oh, but it is.
Ross: Okay. You know what this is? This is a difference of opinion. And when that happens in a marriage-
Rachel: Oh, Ross, come on. This is not a marriage. This is the world's worst hangover!

Ross: I just want you to know that I'm going to be there through this whole thing. Okay. The doctor's appointments, the Lamaze classes, baby-proofing the apartment. Although, we can probably worry about that after we get married.
Rachel: Married?
Ross: Well, yeah, I think we should get married.
Rachel: Because that's your answer to everything?

Joey: That's right. You take good care of those babies.
Randall: Excuse me?
Joey: It's me. Joey.
Randall: Do I know you?
Joey: Joey?
Randall: Oh, yeah. Yeah, the hand guy.
Joey: Okay, so what are we gonna do about this hand twin thing?
Randall: Nothing.
Joey: Look, you and I have been given a gift. Okay. We have to do something with it. Like hand modeling. Or magic. And you know NASA's gonna want to talk to us.
Randall: I have to get back to work.
Joey: Whoa, whoa, whoa. We can have our own show. We can clap our hands together. People will love it. And I wrote a song for us.
[singing] This hand is your hand, This hand is my hand, Oh, wait, that's your hand, No, wait, it's my hand-
Randall: That's okay.
Joey: But you haven't even heard the chorus.

Phoebe: I won! I finally won!
Lurker: I won. That was my quarter.
Phoebe: All right, here. Take a hike, toots.
Lurker: Excuse me, sir. This lady played my quarter. This is my money.
Security Guard: Is that true, miss?
Phoebe: She sells drugs to kids.
Security Guard: What?
Phoebe: She sells drugs to kids.
Lurker: It was my quarter.
Security Guard: Was it her quarter?
Phoebe: How about we talk about this over dinner?
Security Guard: Okay, lady, you're out of here.
Phoebe: No. No, you can't arrest me. No. I won't go back. I won't go back to that hellhole!
Security Guard: I'm just taking you outside.
Phoebe: Oh, okay.

Phoebe: Okay, lady, your lurking days are over.
Lurker: What?
Phoebe: Yeah. From now on, everyone you lurk, I'll lurk first. You move on to someone else, I'm going to be one step ahead of you every single time. And then I'll be on your ass every hour of every day, till Monday, because that's when I go home. When do you leave?
Lurker: Also Monday.
Phoebe: What time? Maybe we can share a cab.