Jess: I mean, I'll admit I've thought about it. Yeah.
Nick: When was this?
Jess: Last year. Just once.
[flashback to Jess watching Nick playing with a bowl of peanuts at the bar:]
Nick: Would you like to eat me? What do you mean? Aren't you a little small? What, are you nuts?! [laughs] What happened? Why am I doing this?
[present:]
Jess: That's what does it for you?
Nick: Yeah, I thought about it for five minutes, and then I realized it would never, ever work between us.

Jess: You never, ever put money in any tip jar, ever.
Nick: What are you talking about?
Jess: I've never seen you ever do that.
Nick: Last week, when we went to the coffee shop.
Jess: You put nickels in the tip jar!
Nick: You know what a jar is in my business?
Jess: Nickels! Nickels are worse than no money; it's an insult.
Nick: It's just a little boy saying, "Love me! Give me attention!"
Jess: You're a bartender. You live on tips. You should know better.
Nick: The nickel? The only American currency...
Jess: You can't not give someone a tip because you don't like tip jars!
Nick: ...graced with the face of Thomas Jefferson.
Jess: Well, I think that's rude, Nick!
Nick: I didn't realize you were on the fence about the Louisiana Purchase...

Schmidt: I just wish I had a lot more solo Tugg time. You know?
Megan: Well, you can be Tugg with me.
Schmidt: Sometimes I think that I'm just a riddle that, well, even I can't solve. [ponders] Yeah, see? I tried to solve it again.

Cece: Okay, so... tell me what happened.
Schmidt: Well, I'm back to being Schmidt. I'm gonna miss it, though. Being a Romney.
Cece: Schmidt, your life would not have been better if you were a Romney.
Schmidt: Cece, look, my dad left when I was eight. Okay? And then he went and had three kids with his new wife, and me and my mom were just these two weirdos who belonged to nobody. Until she started spending all this time with this woman from work who... who she still lives with today.
Cece: Schmidt. He's your dad. All right? Find a way to forgive him for not being a presidential candidate with great hair.
Schmidt: Forget it. No one understands. [Cece pulls Schmidt's head towards her chest]
Cece: There, I thought you needed that, okay? Just take a breath, and it will...
Schmidt: Shh. Shh, shh, shh. It's like memory foam.
Cece: Call your dad.

Jess: Don't build that dresser, please.
Nick: Jess, it's fine. I have another one. I need, like, three to build this thing.
Jess: I can't let you fluff me. I can't let you work in emotional porn. You have too much to offer.
Nick: Forget it, Jess. I'm building you the dresser. I love this stuff. It's like high-stakes Legos.

Sam: Hey, I drew a cat.
Nick: Sorry, man. She's, uh, checking her fantasy football 'cause she... Yeah, I'm not gonna do this, so I-I don't even...

Nick: I can't help. I'm at a crucial point in my zombie novel.
Schmidt: You selfish bastard.
Nick: I'm not a selfish bastard. I just have to... I have to get through...
Schmidt: You're a selfish bastard. I'm so sick of this zombie novel nonsense.
Nick: Not nonsense.
Schmidt: Friends help friends have meaningless sex, okay? Now, you're going. End of story.
Nick: You got it.

Schmidt: [on the phone] I got to bail! Kanye's at this club tonight. What are you talking about? This was your idea. Can't miss this, Nick. I got the belt on. I took Winston with me to prove that I can be friends with black people, even oddly shaped ones.

Jess: So weird. [loudly] Loft Troll not used to fancy gentleman! Shut up. That was so loud.
Nick: Why are you yelling?

Schmidt: Winston! You've been staring at this girl for five minutes. I hope you're checking her out. Otherwise, you're a serial killer, which would explain a lot.