Lorelai: If I knew where Max was on all this, I would know better where I was. It's like when you go to a steak and lobster place, it's easier to know what you want once you know what your date wants. Like, you want steak if he's getting lobster, 'cause then you can share. Or if he's not, you can get surf and turf, though you risk looking like a pig, but some guys aren't turned on by a big appetite, and now I'm not just confused, I'm massively hungry.
Sookie: Me, too. Maybe lunch will take your mind off it a bit.

Paris: Ladies, thank you for seeing me. I know you're busy with work and have families to get home to, so I really appreciate your courtesy, and I'll make it brief. Having Grad Night on a yacht is the worst idea since Neville Chamberlain told the people of England, "Hey, don't worry about Hitler. He's a stand-up chap." Forget the inconvenience of being at sea with guests unable to leave if the party is dull or if the band, which will inevitably be composed of accountants with semi-mullets, decides to do a half-hour tribute to Kenny G. The seasickness factor alone, abetted by snuck-in flasks and badly cooked food, could lead to an epidemic, which may lead to lawsuits the school could ill afford. These points conclusively call for a change in venue to a hotel ballroom, a restaurant facility, several of which I've already called. Here are the results of my research. I've also included a list of maritime disasters from the past fifty years - capsizings, onboard fires, et cetera - and trust me, it'll put you off your lunch. Thank you for your time and cooperation.

Lane: [on the phone] Hello, Mama? Hi, how are you doing tonight?... It's Lane. Yeah, Lane... Nothing's wrong. In fact, I'm feeling pretty good right now. Had a beer and a half, nice cold beer. And I just thought I'd tell you, I'm drumming in a band tonight at a party and we rocked. We were The Clash and Rage Against the Machine and Nirvana combined. And I'm in love with Dave Rygalski. He's my guy, not Young Chui. Young Chui's a ship in the night, Mama. Not even a ship, he's a little tugboat tooting along and I'm not gonna go to the prom with him, nuh-uh, I'm going with Dave, because we rock together, Mama. The charade is over.
Dave: What are you doing?
Lane: What I should've done months ago, Davey.
Dave: That was not your mother. Tell me that wasn't your mother.
Lane: Oh, that was the mother. I am liberated, my friend. [kisses Dave]
Dave: You're drunk.
Lane: No, I'm... Am I?
Dave: We're going on in five minutes. Can you even play?
Lane: Oh, I can hit the sticks on those brums.
Dave: Great, great, but what about the drums?