Paris: I have a really big decision to make, and I'm not about to let him influence it.
Rory: Was he trying to pressure you into staying in Connecticut next year?
Paris: Well, no, not overtly, but it was in the air. And statistically, taking into account my geographic and socioeconomic background, the chances of me remaining with my college boyfriend are slim. So how am I gonna feel in 20 years when I look back and realize that I based such a huge decision on some college guy who may or may not make the holiday newsletter cutoff?
Rory: But you love him.
Paris: Yeah, well, I'll deal.

Paris: So, I don't know where I'll be, but I think I know what I'll be.
Rory: Really?
Paris: A doctor.
Rory: Oh, Paris, that's great.
Paris: It's always been my dream, you know? Last night, when I was lying in bed watching the ceiling spin...
Rory: I told you that last drink was a mistake.
Paris: It just became perfectly clear.
I've always wanted to be a doctor, for as long as I remember. When I was a kid, I used to cut the heads off my dolls to see what was inside.
Rory: I'm guessing you didn't put that on your applications.
Paris: I let myself get swayed by the promise of black-card corporate America, but the truth is I want to be a physician. Always have, always will.
Rory: Well, I think it's a very noble profession.
Paris: Oh, yeah, definitely. It's as close to being God as you can get.

Paris: So have you thought about what you're going to say?
Rory: What?
Paris: When he hands you the diploma. I can't decide between "thank you" and "thank you so much."
Rory: Oh.
Paris: It's a significant moment, and I want to do it right. If I say just plain "Thank you," it sounds kind of casual, like he's handing me a slice of pizza. But "Thank you so much" sounds weird, like I'm acknowledging applause after singing a love ballad.
Rory: I think I'm just gonna do a polite smile and a "thank you."

Paris: Look, I know you like having her around, that she brings back memories of those sunshiny Stars Hollow days when the two of you would hold hands, and skip through fields of wildflowers, and sing Carpenter songs, but she doesn't belong here, she belongs there. And do me a favor and stop blabbing.

Paris: Appetizers?
Man: Oh, thank you.
Paris: You're welcome. [the man eats] So how was that?
Man: Mm, fine, very good.
Paris: I meant the transaction. I'd love a performance review. Come on. Be my Dave Navarro.
Man: Um, you were fine.
Paris: I'm gonna need more. It was T.S. Eliot who said "Criticism is as inevitable as breathing and said that we should be none the worse for articulating what passes in our mind when we read a book, see a play, or" - now I'm elaborating - pass a cheddar and olive ball. I need some feedback.
Man: Really, you offered it to me well, and all seemed great, and I don't want to talk about this anymore.
Paris: Good. Thank you. This has been a help.

Rory: Paris?
Paris: My parents made me come.
Rory: Oh, God!
Paris: Otherwise I wouldn't be here. You believe me, don't you?

Paris: I wanted to tell you again that I had so much fun last night.
Tristin: After five messages on my answering machine I kind of got that impression.
Paris: Too much. Sorry.
Tristin: No, forget it. It was cute.
Paris: Maybe we could do it again sometime. A different movie, of course, but the same basic plan.