Lorelai: Kirk?
Kirk: [o.s.] Yeah?
Lorelai: Turn off the TV, come have your breakfast.
Kirk: In a minute.
Lorelai: Now.
Paris: How old is he?
Rory: You'd have to cut him open and count the rings.

Sookie: Hey look, old letters.
Lorelai: Oh, I love those. Letter from Olivia Taft, reported grand-niece by marriage to president William Taft, written to Chester Hobart, assumed distant relative to Garret Hobart, vice-president to William McKinley. Wow.
Sookie: Oh, I love history. Ooh. Possibly rare 48 star American flag.
Lorelai: Ah, look at that.
Luke: Oh, someone was supposed to take the Sears tag off of that.

Lane: He just flat out looked out of his face right into my face and said to my face that he was lying.
Rory: Zach said that he was lying?
Lane: No. He lied from his face into my face about where he was going. That's what hurts the most, the lie. Except for seeing him with that woman. That hurts most, more than the lie.

Lane: Sophie!
Sophie Bloom: Geez, Lane, I don't have time for coffee right now.
Lane: You owe me an explanation. You... woman!
Sophie Bloom: What are you talking about?
Lane: You know what I'm talking about. I look to you as a role model. Well, not anymore, except as a role model for heartbreak. I know what you can offer him. You're bohemian, and experienced, familiar with the world of sensual pleasure, champagne, Times Square. I bet you've even smoked a cigarette or two.
Sophie Bloom: Oh my God, your breath would stop an elephant.
Lane: You've not only been to New York, but you've lived there. You know where the best bagels are and you've been with men. But you don't know him like I know him. It's cheap thrills for you, sister! But I know what cleaning products he likes. Do you?
Sophie Bloom: I'm not sure how to answer that.
Lane: It had to have been a moment of weakness, because he doesn't like you, he likes me.
Sophie Bloom: Who?
Lane: Zach!

Kirk: Get your Twickham souvenirs here! Twickham souvenirs! I've got your bats! I've got your balls! I've got your foam fingers! Get 'em before he's gone!

Lorelai: Oh, how's Mr. Twickham looking, Andrew?
Andrew: A little tired.
Lorelai: Well, dying is exhausting.
Andrew: Yeah, he's thinking of taking a break and picking up again tomorrow.
Lorelai: Ugh, no. We've been waiting for an hour.
Andrew: He's kind of distracted anyway. The whole time I was there he was Tivo-ing through a fresh Summerland.

Zach: Hey, Soph.
Sophie Bloom: You wash your hands?
Zach: Front and back.
Sophie Bloom: Let's see 'em.
Zach: So we're never going to forget the peanut butter on the sitar?
Sophie Bloom: Good God, man, have you heard of hand cream?
Zach: Okay if we walk around?
Sophie Bloom: Carefully.

Luke: Well, well, I'm talking about the article. You're going to be on the cover of a magazine. That's a big deal!
Lorelai: Well, it's the inn, it's not me, but yes, it is a big deal.
Luke: So, how'd they tell you? They phone you, or they, you know, they e-mail you?
Lorelai: They just said they were so impressed by the inn, they were so impressed by my story-
Luke: It's a great story.
Lorelai: Well, it's a little thin, when you compare it to War and Peace, but...

Luke: Yeah, I got a bunch of back issues and I read them. I tried to figure out who should interview you. Okay. Alicia Kensington. Staff writer, too green and way too stiff. Too many adverbs. Frederick Fairmount. Pff, he talks more about himself than the person he's interviewing. Something boozy about him, too.
Lorelai: I don't think they let you pick who's going to interview you.
Luke: Well, just in case they offer. But this is big.

Lorelai: You threw a frying pan at Taylor's head without me there? I hate you.