Rory: You know, I believe there was something at the auction that Mom wanted but she didn't get. Isn't that right, Mom?
Emily: Oh really? What was that?
Lorelai: I think it was a steamer trunk for Rory to take with her to military school, wasn't it, honey?

Lorelai: Yeah, apparently Dwight's last home was Oz, and not as in "The Wizard Of".

Lorelai: Let me just say, if we walk in there and his dead mother is sitting in a rocking chair, not a bit surprised.

Rory: Hey, how come we don't have a tiki bar?
Lorelai: Well, we are not two wild and crazy guys.
Rory: You like pina coladas.
Lorelai: And getting lost in the rain.

Rory: What were you saying about David Bowie?
Lorelai: Well, first, he asked me to the David Bowie concert next week.
Rory: You're so lucky!
Lorelai: I know! And once that was set, he said that a week was an awfully long time to wait.
Rory: He did not.
Lorelai: So we're having dinner tomorrow.
Rory: And Bowie next week.
Lorelai: And Bowie next week.
Rory: Two dates in one phone call.
Lorelai: Talk about not wasting any time. He sounds very cool, and not just 'cause he owns his own jet.
Rory: Well, remember to tell him that the way to get to you is through your daughter, who desperately wants to go to Amsterdam.

Lorelai: The red skirt is not working.
Rory: Try the blue.
Lorelai: Blue let me down ten minutes ago, I think it's conspiring with the red.
Rory: I wish you'd just wear the dress we picked out this morning.
Lorelai: No, you know as well as I do, the morning butt and evening butt are two completely different butts.
Rory: Well, whatever butt you've got tonight had better hurry because he's gonna be here any minute.
Lorelai: Rats. Fine, okay, striped skirt, burgundy sweater, that's it. What do you think? And remember, I'm wearing this no matter what because I cannot spend one more second deciding what to wear, so the answer has to be, "You look fantastic".
Rory: You look fantastic.

Lorelai: Okay now, if for some reason, he does turn out to have like a horn in the middle of his forehead, you will call me in one hour with a very high fever.

Lorelai: Okay, so, don't wait up and remember only two or three crackheads at the most, they eat all the good cereal.
Rory: Deal.

Lorelai: The evening started well enough – that is, until we got to the car... a Jaguar XJ8 convertible with a 290 horsepower engine, in case you were wondering. You weren't? Funny, neither was I. However, he told me anyhow. He told me a lot of other things about the car, also. Like, did you know how many inches the pistons are? I do! I also know the correct oil to use for it, how to treat the leather interior, and how to load it onto a flatbed truck in case of a flat tire.
Rory: Geez, did he talk about anything else but the car?
Lorelai: Not until we got to the restaurant... and the wine list.
Rory: Oh no, he's a wine-y?
Lorelai: Yes, he sniffed, swirled, swished, and did every other pretentious and borderline-disgusting thing that you can do with a glass of wine in a public place, and he did it all while describing to me the vintage discrepancies and the wood they use for the barrels in Palermo and the grape crop projections for the following year. And I, in turn, chimed in with my story about getting sick on Andre Cold Duck in the back of Peter Cutler's car in ninth grade. He didn't find that quite as charming.
Rory: I can't believe that. That is one of your best anecdotes.
Lorelai: I know! So I stopped talking. He continued talking and I just sat there thinking about Peter Cutler. How was Peter Cutler? Where was Peter Cutler? Was there any chance that Peter Cutler would appear and kill the man sitting across from me talking about torque?
Rory: Was the food good at least?
Lorelai: Tiny portions, weird sauces.
Rory: I'm sorry.
Lorelai: That's okay. You don't know until you try, right? Anyhow, I am going to go to bed now and dream of Peter Cutler. Hopefully, it will be dirty.
Rory: What about Bowie?
Lorelai: I'm not sharing Peter Cutler with Bowie.
Rory: Are you still going?
Lorelai: No. There's no way I could stand this guy for another night. I'll catch Bowie the next time he does a farewell tour.

Emily: This is so like you.
Lorelai: What is so like me?
Emily: You spend five seconds with a person and if they say one wrong thing, you turn on them and never give them a second chance.
Lorelai: What?
Emily: You are extremely judgmental, Lorelai.
Lorelai: I'm not extremely judgmental of the pot calling the kettle black. I spent two and a half hours with a man who talked about nothing but himself, his place, his car...
Emily: He's proud of his accomplishments. What's wrong with that?
Lorelai: He didn't end world hunger, Mom. He simply made the grueling decision to spring for the bigger tires.