Adrian Monk: Do you see a journal anywhere? She supposedly kept a journal. [opens closet] Huh. Looks like she had some roommates. A cheerleader, a French maid. Wait. Oh, you know what? They weren't roommates, Natalie. This is a love nest. That's what it is.
Natalie: You think?
Adrian Monk: This is one of those love nests that you read about.
Natalie: Yeah, but for who? That's the question. Who was she meeting? Oh, my God!
Adrian Monk: What? What is it?
Natalie: Nothing. It's nothing. Mr. Monk, don't open that drawer, you understand? Whatever happens, whatever you do, don't ever, ever, ever... ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever open that drawer!
Adrian Monk: What if there's a clue in there? What if it could solve the case?
Natalie: I don't care!

Harold Krenshaw: As you all know, we lost a dear friend this week. Eileen Hill's body was discovered earlier this morning. Let us pray that the San Francisco police catch her killer and bring him or her to justice. Or if they don't catch him, let us pray that Eileen's murder was the work of a random nut job, or frustrated ex-Boyfriend, and not some kind of a masked vigilante, who, for some reason, has a personal vendetta against the City Council, and is determined to slaughter us, one member at a time, picking us off when we least expect it, using a different, yet somehow appropriate method for each of his grisly killings. Amen.

Adrian Monk: I was buried alive once.
Natalie: Yeah, I remember.
Adrian Monk: I was in a box. I was underground for three hours. And that box is now the second-most frightening place I've ever been.