Paris: I have a Rory story. When I was running the paper, I was dying to do an article about everybody's asinine obsession with Boho Chic, but Rory had the guts to tell me that the idea for my article was trite and passe, because that's who Rory is: honest, direct, and to the point. Like, when you all turned on me and decided you didn't want me in charge anymore, and you all chewed me up and spit me out, Rory was the one who broke the news to me. Thank you, Rory, for being the one person with integrity among a collection of cowardly back servers. [everyone else is silent]
Rory: These are all such great stories.

Lane: This is what she does to me. She gives me this look, and I get all panicky and start sweating. Once, at a church picnic, someone had taken a bite out of six deviled eggs and put them back on the platter. My mother accused me of doing it, and I almost confessed!
Zach: But you hate deviled eggs.
Lane: That's the point! After she gave me that look, I wasn't sure. Maybe I had taken those bites. She gets in my head. It's like Korean voodoo.

Paris: What are you taking, by the way?
Rory: Taking?
Paris: Just remember, tricyclic antidepressants are better than your monoamine oxidase inhibitors, since those are for panic attacks. It doesn't look like you're there yet.
Lorelai: Well, I have no plans of going there.
Paris: You will. I know when I was finished as editor, I went into a major tailspin. Can you tell?
Rory: You masked it so well with your generally gloomy disposition.