Lane: I'm sick of her. I'm sick of it all. I'm sick of being treated like I'm not a person, like I'm some incubator whose puffy ankles and varicose veins and bathroom habits are up for discussion. On what planet is it appropriate to ask a person how many times a day she urinates?
Zach: Well, you can ask me.
Lane: I don't want to ask you.
Zach: Six times today so far. I had a lot of coffee.
Lane: I'm sick of being told what to eat and what I shouldn't and what side I should sleep on when I lie down. I'm a person, Zach. I'm an adult. I don't want to be hiding things under the floorboards and behind cushions again.
Zach: Yeah, that's no good. Plus, we're starting to get ants and mites.
Lane: I don't want everything to change just because we're having these babies.
Zach: But things are going to change. There's no getting around it. Really, really soon, we're gonna have two babies. Two alive human sons.
Lane: It was such a small window. A peephole, really. For years, I was this repressed kid, and then there was the briefest of windows. And then... slam. All of a sudden, I'm this overburdened mother. I barely got to do it, Zach. I barely got the chance to be a person.

Lorelai: I'm so mad at you!
Rory: What kind of greeting is that?
Lorelai: What kind of daughter doesn't let her mother pick her up at the airport?
Rory: The kind of daughter who parks her car at the airport car park.
Lorelai: But I'm the kind of mother who picks her daughter up from the airport. You know, with flowers and coffee and a fake chauffeur's sign. Why would you mess with my sense of self?
Rory: But my car was parked at the airport car park.
Lorelai: So what? I could have driven to the airport, picked you up, brought you back. Then we both could have driven to pick up your car and come back here.
Rory: Yeah, 'cause that wouldn't be a waste of gas or anything.

Lorelai: I smell Christmas cookies.
Rory: There's no way you can smell cookies from six days ago.
Lorelai: So there were Christmas cookies.
Rory: There may have been a little Christmas.
Lorelai: Unbelievable!
Rory: London, as a city, is very Christmas-obsessed, okay? I couldn't help what was going on around me. But inside, I assure you, I was devoid of the Christmas spirit. A complete scrooge.
Lorelai: I didn't let any Christmas happen. I Grinched it up so hard, I didn't let it snow.
Rory: What? It hasn't snowed yet?
Lorelai: Thanks to me thinking of you and our agreement, our pledge, our oath.
Rory: You stopped the snow?
Lorelai: Yes, sheer force of will. We said we would have no Christmas, so I had no Christmas.

Rory: You must have had a little Christmas.
Lorelai: None.
Rory: No presents?
Lorelai: No presents.
Rory: No tree?
Lorelai: No tree.
Rory: No eggnog?
Lorelai: No egg, no nog. I sat in the dark with the lights off and ate gruel.
Rory: Okay, Mom, I hereby apologize for any accidental Christmas celebrating I may have done. I'm now ready to celebrate Christmas for real.

Rory: That tree has character.
Lorelai: It does.
Rory: That tree has earned character by persevering through freezing winters and forest fires and floods.
Lorelai: This tree's a fighter.
Rory: Woodpeckers. I mean, maniacal woodpeckers just pecking at its trunk.
Lorelai: Survivor.
Rory: Peck, peck, peck, day in and day out.
Lorelai: That tree's a champion.
Rory: It smells so good in here with all our trees.
Lorelai: It's like a dozen car air fresheners.
Rory: Just imagine how good it's gonna be once all of our trees are in here.

Lorelai: We better be careful, or word will get out and everyone will start celebrating Christmas after Christmas, which will really drive up the post-Christmas Christmas-tree prices.
Rory: Then we'll have to keep celebrating later and later.
Lorelai: Yeah, before we know it, we'll be having figgy pudding in July.

Christopher: Cool. Mistletoe.
Lorelai: Where are you going with that?
Christopher: I'm gonna hang it up in the doorway.
Rory: Oh, that's not where it goes.
Christopher: Where does it go?
Rory: We tape it to one of the blades of the ceiling fan upstairs. That way, the kissing is more like a sport.

Rory: Hmm. On Christmas morning, we put red and green M&M;'s in our cereal.
Christopher: Down with that.
Rory: We string up our stockings on the banister.
Lorelai: Yes, we used to string them up on the traditional place of the fireplace, but then there was that fire incident, and they nearly burned to bits. So now we put them on little nails on the banister.
Rory: Oh, we always go to Weston's for a cup of holiday candy-cane coffee, which is so delicious.
Lorelai: It's delicious. And we bake cookies.
Christopher: You bake?
Lorelai: Well, we put on some Christmas music, drink eggnog, and pretend to bake the cookies we actually bought from Weston's.
Rory: We do, however, make our own frosting.
Lorelai: We use a handheld electric mixer from the dark ages so that Rory can continue the tradition of licking the beaters.
Rory: Yes, a skill which I have perfected over the years.
Lorelai: And then on Christmas Eve, we leave the cookies out for Santa's reindeer.
Rory: Santa prefers gum.

Michel: Oh. You. I thought we were done with you.
Luke: Hi, Michel. Is Lorelai here?
Michel: [on the phone] Hey. Can you tell Lorelai that someone is here to see her? [hangs up] Well, this is awfully awkward. We should make some sort of conversation. I see your sense of style has not changed.
Luke: Nope.
Michel: I've often wondered, does someone in your family own a flannel company?
Luke: Uh, no.
Michel: You know what? I cannot do this. Let us just stand here and let the awkwardness wash over us.
Luke: Fine by me.
Lorelai: Hi.
Michel: Ah, here she is. It's been a delight chatting with you.

Lorelai: I thought, "I'll just sit down and write whatever comes -- no judgment, no inner critic." Was that a bad idea.
Rory: Really? Why?
Lorelai: Because my brain is a wild jungle full of scary gibberish. "I'm writing a letter. I can't write a letter. Why can't I write a letter? I'm wearing a green dress. I wish I was wearing my blue dress. My blue dress is at the cleaners. 'The Germans wore gray. You wore blue.' Casablanca is such a good movie. Casablanca. The White House. Bush. Why don't I drive a hybrid car? I should drive a hybrid car. I should really take my bicycle to work. Bicycle. Unicycle. Unitard. Hockey puck. Rattlesnake. Monkey, monkey, underpants."
Rory: "Hockey puck, rattlesnake, monkey, monkey, underpants"?
Lorelai: Exactly. That's what I'm saying. It's a big bag of weird in there. So, I think, well, I need inspiration. I need a muse. Perhaps I need The Muse. Maybe it would help if Sharon Stone would appear to me in an alarming caftan and coo inspirational words in my ear.