Emily: I can hardly tell what anything is. Look at that pale, misshapen thing. Is that a sandwich or a piece of chicken?
Lorelai: Maybe it's a chicken sandwich. Oh no, it's quiche.
Emily: That's a quiche? That blobby, white thing is supposedly quiche lorraine?
Lorelai: It doesn't say "quiche lorraine." Maybe it's "quiche blobby white thing."

Emily: Everything's in order, you'll be glad to know. I called Harold Larkin and the chairman of the economics department. They both send their best wishes for a speedy recovery. I canceled our dinner reservations for the next couple of weeks. Oh, and I sent regrets to Sarah Osgood, who's hosting the D.A.R. spring fling this year. I left word for the Sudburys that we won't be able to host bridge this week. Uh, what else? Oh, and I've been in touch with Quentin. He's been kept abreast of the whole situation. And I bought fish, Richard, so much fish... Tuna and trout and snapper and salmon and...
Richard: Sounds just fine, Emily. That sounds just fine.

Emily: It will be all right. Every cloud has a silver lining.
Lorelai: Thanks, Mom.
Emily: Well, blood is thicker than water.

Emily: In the meantime, can I offer you a drink?
Lorelai: Yes. The usual: Martini up, with a twist.
Emily: Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not serving alcohol tonight.
Lorelai: [to Rory] I told you there was something wrong with my ears. [to Emily] What?
Emily: I'm serving nonalcoholic cocktails only.
Lorelai: There's no such thing as a nonalcoholic cocktail.
Emily: There most certainly is. It's called a mocktail.
Lorelai: You're serving mocktails?
Emily: Yes. I can offer you a Shirley Temple or a Roy Rogers.
Rory: I'll have a Roy Rogers.
Lorelai: Why not a "Howdy Doody" or a "Captain Kangaroo"?
Emily: Lorelai, stop being so selfish. We're doing this for your father. After you've had open-heart surgery, alcohol is strictly verboten.

Lorelai: Mom, you know how to do things by yourself. You are totally capable.
Emily: Sure, I went to Smith, and I was a history major, but I never had any plans to be an historian. I was always going to be a wife. I mean, the way I saw it, a woman's job was to run a home, organize the social life of a family, and bolster her husband while he earned a living. It was a good system, and it was working very well all these years. Only when your husband isn't there because he's watching television in a dressing gown, you realize how dependent you are. I didn't even know I owned windmills.
Lorelai: Mom, now you know, and you know how to right-click.

Emily: Howard? She's marrying a man named Howard?
Lorelai: What's wrong with Howard?
Emily: It's just, for me, it would be very difficult if my husband was named Howard.
Rory: Why?
Emily: It's just not a noble name. I like noble male names, strong... John, Peter.
Rory: Richard.
Emily: Exactly. Richard the lion-heart.
Lorelai: Well, I guess name nobility wasn't high on Mia's list.
Emily: [scoffs] Howard the lion-heart.

Emily: [on the phone] No, are you listening? I've already booked a Swedish massage for 1:00. I want to know what I can do at 2:30. Good lord, no. A watsu? Why would I want to re-experience my own birth?

Lorelai: Have you seen The Pursuit of Happyness?
Emily: Is that the one with Will Smith? He's so attractive.
Lorelai: Mmm! Mom has a thing for Will Smith.
Emily: I don't have a thing for him. Is it on now?
Lorelai: Yeah.

Emily: I'm sure it's nepotism. If your name isn't Keller or Sulzberger, you may as well not even apply.

Emily: Well, I don't what to do. Should I continue to stagger the hors d'oeuvres or just tell the kitchen to send everything out?
Lorelai: I don't know.
Emily: What didn't she just say "yes"?
Lorelai: I think she's not sure she wants to marry him, Mom.
Emily: That's ridiculous. He's a Huntzberger. An offer like this doesn't come around every day.
Lorelai: It's a marriage proposal, not a sale on linens.