Paris: Rory, I clocked in.
Rory: Cool.
Paris: They gave me this card, and it had my name on it. And I shoved it in the clock thing, and it made the punchy sound, and I'm officially on the job.
Rory: Great.
Paris: And I'm prepared, too. I was a little nervous last night about making small talk with co-workers, so I went to the video store and rented Working Girl and the first season of Just Shoot Me! Got a couple of Wendie Malick bon mots that have already come in handy.

Paris: How loud are you?
Rory: Paris, stop.
Paris: Look, I don't care. I just need the information to formulate a good plan. I mean, you look all small and squeaky, but sometimes, it's exactly the bunny-looking girls who can blow the roof off the barn. I know, just give me a three-minute warning.
Rory: I'm walking away now.
Paris: That way, I have time to put everything in place. Put headphones on, et cetera.
Rory: Bye.
Paris: Is he gonna be coming over a lot? Probably, right? He's at his peak now, and it's probably one of the only things he's good at so...
Rory: Three-minute warning!

Paris: We keep the door fully locked, even when we're home. We actually added the chains after there were a couple of break-ins on the street, but we've never had any trouble. We've got a very sophisticated crime-prevention system set up here. When we leave, we always keep the radio on. Rush Limbaugh, of course, so they know we have guns in the house. The lights are all on a timer, so don't touch the switches. And there's a motion detector in the hallway, so don't freak out when it goes on at night. Now, over here is our trusty dog, bloodhound. [dog barks on CD] Excellent for magazine pushers and pamphlet bearers of all types.
Rory: You've got it all covered.
Paris: Pretty much. That's our room. That's your room. They're both the same size, but we have an extra window 'cause Doyle has dreams about walls collapsing in on him, so he needs to sleep near glass.
Rory: Oh, my God! Were those gunshots?
Paris: No, that was just a car backfiring. The real gunfire actually sounds fake. You'll pick it up eventually. They call it "ghetto ear."
Rory: Something to look forward to.
Paris: Now, Doyle sleeps very deeply, so don't worry about the hours. I, as you know, haven't slept through the night since the first time I saw The Wizard of Oz, thank you Mom, so I tend to do my crafts in the middle of the night. But the walls are very thick so you won't hear a thing.

Bill: When the editor in chief isn't here, the managing editor's in charge. That's standard operating procedure at every newspaper in the country.
Paris: Yes, but I've done this 1,000 times, and you've never done it, Bill. Experience.
Bill: Experience that led to a mutiny. It's not like anyone ever gave Captain Bligh another ship after the Bounty.
Paris: Of course they did, multiple ships, and by the time he died, they promoted the guy to Rear Admiral. Do you think the British royal navy ruled the world in the 19th century by letting that much natural talent and leadership capability go to waste just because a few whiny complainers wanted more breadfruit and less scurvy?

Paris: What's with the gooney look?
Rory: Huh?
Paris: Your face. It's right out of a Harlequin romance.
Rory: He's just been so great. I mean, he's really been there for me for the past couple days. I had to practically send him away from the hospital yesterday.
Paris: I know. It's amazing. I never thought you guys were gonna last.
Rory: What?
Paris: I'm just being honest. Logan Huntzberger? Between the women and the drinking, that kid was on the Colin Farrell freeway about to pull over into the Robert Downey Jr. rest stop.

Tristin: Ah, to be young and in love.
Paris: What a shame Elizabeth Barrett Browning wasn't here to see this. She'd put her head through a wall.

Paris: Well, it's true. The Beats' writing was completely self-indulgent. I have one word for Jack Kerouac: Edit.
Jess: It was not self-indulgent. The Beats believed in shocking people stirring things up.
Paris: They believed in drugs, booze, and petty crime.
Rory: Well, then, you could say they expose you to a world you wouldn't have otherwise known. Isn't it what great writing's about?
Paris: That wasn't great writing. It was the National Enquirer of the '50s.
Jess: You're cracked.
Paris: Typical guy response. Worship Kerouac and Bukowski. God forbid you pick up anything by Jane Austen.

Madeline: Hey, Paris, what do you think about me writing a gossip column for the Franklin?
Paris: Huh. I don't know. That's a hard one. I mean, this is the Franklin, a newspaper that's been around for almost 100 years. There have been at least ten former editors of the Franklin that have gone to the New York Times. Six have gone on to the Washington Post. Three are contributing editors at the New Yorker. I think one even went on to win the Pulitzer prize. But never mind them. I could be the first editor in the history of the Franklin to introduce a column exclusively devoted to who Biffy's boffing today. Quandary. You know, I'm going to have to get back to you on that one.
Madeline: Okay.

Lorelai: Paris, how's it going?
Paris: Fine. Good. Thanks for having me.
Lorelai: Oh, it was our pleasure.
Paris: Did you notice the anachronisms?
Lorelai: The what?
Paris: The period discrepancies. They were pretty blatant. I mean, forget that the 19th century didn't include recessed lighting or the Fossil watch your server was wearing, but water in that period would not have been served with cubed ice.
Lorelai: Right.
Paris: And your servers are wearing nylon blend shirts, and Nylon was invented by a scientist at DuPont in the 1920s. It shattered the illusion.
Lorelai: Oh. Floggings will be administered.

Rory: No, I don't want to be in politics. I just want to write about it.
Paris: You won't have to do anything. I'll do the work and make the speeches. You just have to sit there and be nice.
Rory: No. Bye. [walks away]
Paris: Harvard loves this kind of crap. [Rory walks back] Being Vice-President is just one more thing to put you ahead of the rest of hundreds of thousands of straight A students who are applying for the same spot you are. Think about it. You say no then comes the day when the letter from Harvard arrives. They've turned you down. Enjoy Connecticut State, sucker. Tell me you won't be thinking, "What if I had just run with Paris?" "What if the one thing that could have ensured my place behind those ivy-covered walls I just walked away from?"
Rory: Fine.
Paris: Yes. Okay.
Rory: I guess just being nice to people never occurred to you?
Paris: See, that is exactly what I need from you. Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm for the new millennium. Hey, wear some braids tomorrow, with bows. I mean, hell, let's sell it, sister.