Rory: Feels like forever ago to me. Chilton, the day we met, just a couple of rosy-cheeked kids.
Paris: My face inflamed easily back then. Too many tomatoes and red peppers.
Rory: Got off to kind of a rocky start. We were competitors.
Paris: I get that from my mother. She's part viking.
Rory: But eventually we became pals, good pals, because we respected each other and supported each other in good times and bad.
Paris: Did I open this can today or yesterday?
Rory: This is a not-so-good time, Paris.
Paris: I know. If the hurricanes don't kill us, the bird flu will.
Rory: I mean for you, here, at the paper. The board voted you out.

Rory: You're Paris Geller. You walk tall. You're better than all of them.
Paris: Really?
Rory: Definitely. And this job, Paris, being editor? You don't need this, this hassle. You're gonna be a doctor.
Paris: Surgeon.
Rory: And a lawyer.
Paris: Judge.
Rory: That's a hell of a workload. And the workload here, the indignities, smoothing the ruffled feathers of advertisers, covering sports as if they matter... you're exhausted, Paris, stretched thin, eating soup out of a can.
Paris: Soup I don't even like.

Paris: Everyone, I have a little announcement, so if you could gather around, please. We have an issue. You see, it has become increasingly apparent that I have become the story here at the Yale Daily News and that I have overshadowed our journalistic efforts. Well, I don't want to be the story at my own newspaper, because then I'd be Judith Miller, and I'd have to wear my bangs too long and overdo my lipstick, and I don't want that. I want to remain me. So I am tendering my resignation as editor in chief effective immediately. In closing, I'd like to state that the Yale Daily News has overcome numerous obstacles in its august history and that it will easily overcome this. My resignation will be a loss, but it will be a loss the Daily News can survive, and it is a loss it must survive. Good night and good luck.

Luke: Yeah, but they take forever, and then I got to sit there and talk to your dad about stocks and literature and watch it dawn on him for the umpteenth time that I don't know anything about stocks or literature. I mean, how many times can two people have the same awful conversation?
Lorelai: Look, just repeat after me. "This is really great scotch, Richard."
Luke: And then, of course, there's your mother, who hates me.
Lorelai: All the more reason to get a little soused.
Luke: We can drink in the car.
Lorelai: One of us has to drive.
Luke: Fine, you drink in the car, I'll take five quick shots in their driveway.

Lorelai: Look, I want to get out of there as quickly as you do, but we have to think a little more pragmatically. So when the dessert comes, I will fake an attack of food poisoning, and then you rush me to the car.
Luke: That's your solution?
Lorelai: Uh-huh, yes. Fake stomach pain is my specialty. That and getting my fiancee to agree to horrible things he hates.

Michel: So I guess this is how we're operating now.
Lorelai: How's that?
Michel: We've dispensed with hiring professionals around here. Maybe from now on, my cousin Gert can do our accounting. She's got her own calculator.
Lorelai: He's not performing open-heart surgery, Michel. He's just fixing a few things, for free, saving me a little money so I can do crazy things like pay people's salary and heat the place.
Michel: Well, he's not doing a very good job. That key rack is protruding way too far out. It's going to wreak havoc on my French cuffs every time I reach for a key.

Paris: [opens door with chain] You dare show your face?
Rory: What is my stuff doing out here?
Paris: I'll prorate the utilities from the time of eviction, 3:47 p.m. the third day of February.
Rory: Eviction? Paris, why are you doing this?
Paris: Don't you play dumb with me.
Rory: Unchain the door.
Paris: This chain is here for your protection. Krav maga, baby. When my enemies approach, I'm trained to pounce, it's reflex.
Rory: Paris, I'm not your enemy.
Paris: Oh, really? Enemies move in silence and strike when their prey is weakest. Pretty much sums you up, doesn't it, Editor Gilmore?

Michel: I noticed your truck.
Luke: Yeah.
Michel: Your filthy green truck. It's parked in guest parking.
Luke: So?
Michel: So guest parking is for guests. Filthy-green-truck parking is around the back, on the dirt road, behind the shed.

Michel: Now, about your hat.
Luke: My hat?
Michel: I'd like you to remove it.
Luke: What for?
Michel: You're indoors. Gentlemen don't wear hats indoors.
Luke: It's okay. I'm not much of a gentleman.
Michel: Not if you persist in dressing like a Peanuts character.
Luke: I'm not taking off my hat.

Michel: Did you talk to a guest this morning?
Luke: Huh?
Michel: I thought I saw you talking to a guest.
Luke: I may have given someone directions.
Michel: Well, don't do it again. You're not qualified.
Luke: I'm not qualified to tell somebody how to get to the post office?
Michel: No. You are a diner owner and an amateur substitute handyman, and that in no way qualifies you to give directions to our guests.
Luke: Why not?
Michel: Because that is my job, and you lack my people skill.