Bill: When the editor in chief isn't here, the managing editor's in charge. That's standard operating procedure at every newspaper in the country.
Paris: Yes, but I've done this 1,000 times, and you've never done it, Bill. Experience.
Bill: Experience that led to a mutiny. It's not like anyone ever gave Captain Bligh another ship after the Bounty.
Paris: Of course they did, multiple ships, and by the time he died, they promoted the guy to Rear Admiral. Do you think the British royal navy ruled the world in the 19th century by letting that much natural talent and leadership capability go to waste just because a few whiny complainers wanted more breadfruit and less scurvy?

Richard: Well, naturally I thought they were referring to the archduke. So I jumped in, as who wouldn't? With some thoughts about the various conspiracy theories surrounding his infamous assassination in Sarajevo. Imagine my surprise when I learned that Franz Ferdinand was the name of a very popular rock-'n'-roll band.
Emily: [laughs] That's what he gets for trying to fraternize after class with his students.
Richard: One of them even offered to burn a CD for me.

Rory: [on the phone] Hey, what's going on?
Lorelai: Uh, well Stars Hollow smells like pickles.
Rory: Pickles?
Lorelai: Pickles.
Rory: Pickles pickles?
Lorelai: Pickles.
Rory: Why?
Lorelai: Because a pickle train crashed.
Rory: Is this a joke? Is this a long, boring joke that I'm not going to get?
Lorelai: No, it's no joke. The town smells like pickles because a pickle train was derailed.
Rory: A train full of pickles? Who knew there was such a thing?
Lorelai: Well, pickle-train conductors, for one. Sounds so fun. I would've been the greatest pickle-train conductor. Can you see me... "All aboard, you pickles!"
Rory: Hmm. Clearly you missed your calling.
Lorelai: Well, luckily there's you. You're young, you're clever, your great pickle-train conducting hope.

Emily: Of course, this time of year, so many people start playing that awful winter tennis with the chicken-wire cages and the heated courts.
Richard: Platform tennis can be very enjoyable, Emily.
Emily: Yes, but it looks ridiculous, like glorified ping-pong. If I wanted to play ping-pong, I would... Well, if I wanted to play ping-pong, I would kill myself.

Lorelai: Oh, no! You're not gonna show me some of her art, are you? I never know what to say in those situations. I mean, even when it was Rory's art, you know? Three blue finger smudges and some construction paper. It's not precocious. It's just messy.

Lorelai: Oh, it is. It's foul. It's like rotten cabbage.
Michel: Or with dense but subtle undertones of olives.
Lorelai: There's nothing subtle about it. It's like a sledgehammer to the nose.
Sookie: Oh, my God! What is that?
Lorelai: It's not coming from the kitchen?
Sookie: Bite your tongue. Wait, are we having heart attacks right now? Isn't smelling something strange the first sign of a heart attack?
Lorelai: I don't think we're having a communal massive heart attack.

Michel: Carcasses.
Lorelai: What?
Michel: Those strange, angry-looking guests. I'm sure they are traveling with decaying animal flesh.
Lorelai: Yeah, 'cause that's the most logical explanation.

Bill: Tell me you're not seriously considering this. The bunker. Do you not remember the bunker?
Paris: I hardly see how my choice of workplace is relevant.
Bill: There was an insurrection, a revolt, an uprising. She was deposed.
Paris: See how wordy he is? He overwrites. Plus, he's always been weak with gerunds.
Rory: [phone rings] Sorry. Look, could you guys take this somewhere else?
Bill: Fine. Let's go to my desk.
Paris: Your desk? Right, like I'm actually going to cede home-court advantage.

Michel: [on the phone] Cancel? Well, I would say that depends. What exactly is your feeling about pickles? Uh-huh, yes, pickles... gherkins, dills. For instance, if all the air around you smelled like pickles and there was no place to run, no place to hide, would you find that bothersome?

Lorelai: Michel, it's getting in my pores. My pores are pickling. Sorry, I didn't mean to get you out of surgery.
Michel: Oh, mock the mask if you wish.
Lorelai: Oh, I will.
Michel: One is never too careful with toxic pollutants in the air.
Lorelai: Michel, it's just pickles.
Michel: Oh, so they say! Has anyone ever seen these pickles? Who's to say this is not some sort of chemical weapon the government is testing on us behind our backs?
Lorelai: That's a cheery thought.
Michel: I have much scarier scenarios if you want to hear them.