Ted: New Jersey is not "pretty much New York". You are not "pretty much New Yorkers".
Colleen: And how would you know?
Ted: Because I live here. That's right. I live here. Yes, we're full of crap. Yes, we pretended to be from out of town so we could sleep with you and leave in the morning. But you know what's even worse than that?! Saying you're a New Yorker when you're not. Because, this is the greatest city in the world and you have to earn the right to call yourself a New Yorker. So why don't you girls crawl into the open sewer pipe you call the Holland Tunnel and flush yourselves back to "pretty much New York"? Because I will do a lot to get laid, but I am not going to New Jersey!

Future Ted: [v.o.] That night, Marshall, sat down to write the letter he hoped Lily would never have to read.
Marshall: [v.o.] "My dearest, sweetest, Lilypad. Let this letter be a small beacon, a tiny firefly to help light your way trough the years ahead. My love for you persists, higher than the Himalayas, deeper than a Scottish loch. [sobbing] If I died under suspicious circumstances then beware. Trust no one, not even Ted. Especially not Ted. Know that I'll always be there in your heart, whenever you need me. [sobbing] And my love for you will never die. Love. [sobbing] Your Marshmallow."

Robin: I'm evolved, and I'm enjoying living my life a little bit closer to the way Gael and I did in Argentina.
Barney: Please, vacation romances have an expiration date. Gael's got a "best if banged by" sticker on him. Once your romance starts to stink, you'll dump his ass down the drain like sour milk and go back to being "unevolved Robin", the one we actually like.

Ted: Come on. Let's get out of here. This night's a disaster.
Barney: What?! This night couldn't have gone any better. We've just survived a mugging. You know what that means.
Ted: "Thank God, we're alive" sex.
Barney: "Thank God we're alive" sex. It's even better than "I can't believe you just proposed to me" sex, which I've only had, like, four of five times. Ted, please, we are so close.

Ted: Okay, okay. We're from a small town in the south of France. Our plane leaves Sunday morning.
Barney: [in a Southern accent] Uh, hey, uh, howdy, ladies. Hate to bother you. We seem to be a little bit lost. Would you happen to know which street the Statue of Liberty's on?
Lindsay: Actually, it's on its own island.
Ted: Oh.
Barney: Oh, it's right. And, thank you very... My name is, uh, Ignatius Peabody Nobel, from East Westerton, Missouri. And this is my friend... Ted.

Barney: Everything's so bright, even at night. No wonder the city never sleeps. [Barney and Colleen laugh]
Ted: Hey, if we're going north. Why did we cross over the FDR? We should have taken the Hudson.
Barney: [scoffing] Now he knows all the streets. Someone's been watching too many "Steinfield" reruns.

Ted: So, being married, different? Not different?
Marshall: It's the same. Mostly, except I think I might be getting carpal tunnel. My hands keeps cramping up.
Barney: I think the whole point of getting married was that you didn't have to do that anymore.
Marshall: No, it's from writing all the thank you notes. Mostly.

Lily: Yeah. You're writing constantly. There's forms we have to sign, our death folders, thank you notes...
Barney: Whoa. Whoa. What are death folders?
Lily: It's this thing they recommend you do in case one spouse died unexpectedly.
Marshall: It's all the information your spouse might need all in one convenient location.
Lily: Yeah. Account info, important addresses, a letter to the other person, all that stuff. I'll get the next round.
Marshall: I am such a jerk.
Barney: Yeah. Wait, why?
Marshall: I didn't know that I was supposed to write a letter. All Lily's gonna find in that folder are a bunch of bank statements and a funny list of things to do with my ashes.
Ted: Marshall brownies.
Marshall: Number six.

Marshall: Oh, God, I am a bad husband. No, uh, no, I'll just write, I'll write Lily a letter tonight, everything'll be fine.
Barney: That's right. Unless you die between now and then. Ooh. But, come on, that's never gonna happen.
Ted: Yes! There is one thing we can state with absolute certainly, it's that Marshall Eriksen is not going to die before writing that letter.
Barney: No way at all. In fact, I dare God to smite down this perfectly healthy...
Marshall: Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! I get it, okay, you guys know I'm a little superstitious, and you guys are trying to freak me out. Well, guess what? It didn't work. So, there.
[After a brief wait, Marshall knocks on the table three times, throws salt behind his shoulder and spins round three times]
Marshall: You guys are jerks!

Lily: Wow. It seems like a great trip.
Robin: Oh, it was. I feel like the Robin who left is not the same Robin who came back, you know.
Lily: Wow. There's a lot of nude people in here.
Barney: You haven't changed, Scherbatsky. You're a sophisticated, scotch-swilling, cigar-smoking, red-meat-eating, gun-toting New Yorker.
Lily: Just shoes and a shirt. That's a look.
Barney: What you are not is a massage-giving, windsurfing, bongo-playing, teetotaling, vegan, peacenik, hippy like you soon to be ex-boyfriend, Gael. Back me up here, Ted.