Babette: Everything's all right between the two of you, isn't it?
Lorelai: Of course it is.
Morey: I hope so. Otherwise Taylor would go crazy.
Babette: He's got all these contingency plans, remember, in case you guys split? He's worried what it would do to the town. Big anal creep.
Lorelai: Well, there's no splitting happening here. Everything's fine.

Rory: Paris? Paris? Paris. Are you asleep?
Paris: [mumbles] Don't turn the light on. [Rory turns the light on] Aah! I said don't turn the light on.
Rory: I didn't hear the "don't".
Paris: Why do you think I would tell you to turn on the light when I'm dead asleep?
Rory: I didn't know you were dead asleep.
Paris: The room is dark, I'm under the covers and completely immobile. Deduce, Sherlock.
Rory: Well, you're awake now. Can I ask you a question?
Paris: Bite me.
Rory: Were there any messages for me?
Paris: Yes. Four other people called and asked that you bite me.

Rory: Okay. I don't mean to insult you, but are you maybe telling me there's no message because you're mad that I woke you and there really was a message?
Paris: Oh, my God, you're annoying tonight. [sits up] What's with being all k.d. lang?
Rory: It was for my grandparents' vow renewal. I was the best man.
Paris: Is that kinky or something?
Rory: It was a cute thing.

Paris: So, who's the boy? What boy? The boy you're dying to get a message from. I assume it's a boy.
Rory: Not necessarily.
Paris: Well, no one called, left a note, smoke signaled, Morse coded, semaphore flagged or came by. Male, female or hermaphrodite.
Rory: Okay, thanks.
Paris: I'm wide awake. It's your fault. You owe me Boggle.
Rory: Paris.
Paris: Boggle!
Rory: One game and then it's back to bed.

Kirk: Hey, Lorelai.
Lorelai: Kirk, you're dripping wet.
Kirk: Sweat is the curse of the b-boy. Mos Def.

Lorelai: You've seen Luke?
Kirk: He came into the movie theater. I'm on my break, so I figured I'd come down and bust a sweet move.
Lorelai: When, when?
Kirk: Oh, about a half hour ago. I asked about you and he said you weren't feeling well. Then he rejected my "Buy two Junior Mints, get a free hunk of onion beef jerky" offer with a disgusting profanity, then took a seat.

Sookie: I'm making little pancakes for the dolls, and I found these little forks they can use.
Michel: They do not have opposable thumbs.
Sookie: Who, the girls? Oh, this is a handicapped group. Poor things.
Michel: No, the dolls.
Sookie: The dolls? How can a doll be handicapped?
Michel: My point exactly. They are plastic and made in Bangalore.

Sookie: But you know, I read a story about another guy that had a fight with his girlfriend, and he said he needed like a week to think it over, and he only needed a day. And he and the girl were back together and were happy forever. No Larry, or loser kids, or anything.
Lorelai: Uh-huh.
Sookie: They don't put stuff like that in the newspapers, 'cause it's not as sexy as the forty year story, but it happens all the time, really.
Lorelai: Thanks for making that up.
Sookie: You're welcome.
Lorelai: I'm going to go take a walk. I've got some errands to run.
Sookie: Good. Clear your head. And it was Katie Couric.
Lorelai: I knew it.

Rory: You know, I could put the phone away if it's bothering you.
Paris: Don't. That pathetic boat you're in? I'm first oarsman.
Rory: How so?
Paris: I'm waiting for Doyle to call. I expected a call yesterday to set something up for last night, but it never came. So I ate a family-sized bag of salt and vinegar potato chips and went to bed at seven-thirty.
Rory: That was the smell.

Paris: We're better than this, you and me. We're the children of Emma Goldman and Hillary Clinton. Strong, independent. We're better than this.
Rory: Apparently not.
Paris: I blame Chilton. Great education, but horrific socialization. We need guidance.
Rory: I'm not calling Love Line.
Paris: Rory, come on. We're sitting in a sea of expertise in this field. The college campus. There's no end of knock-headed bimbos with tons of dross to dispense. There's two now.
Rory: Paris, don't.
Paris: Althea! Janet! Come here.
Rory: You hate Althea and Janet.
Paris: Granted, they know nothing of Ukrainian politics or the periodic table, but when it comes to boys, they're brighter than the Brontes.