Schmidt: No, I'm not happy. I'm poor, and I'm living in a filthy thimble. I've gone from riches to rags. It's reverse Annie.
Nick: Oh, spoiler alert. Now you just ruined Annie.

Nick: Don't worry, don't worry. I got it. I got it. I'll just clean it.
Coach: Dude, there's a sponge in your hand.
Schmidt: No, let him go. He's my inspiration. You know, living with him in that slovenly hellhole has been a secret blessing. It's made me stronger. Without ash to rise from, the phoenix would just be a bird getting up. I am a phoenix, and I will rise.
Cece: He usually says that speech before sex.
Schmidt: By 2015, I will have my own room. And by 2016... [looks off into the distance]
Coach: What is he looking at?
Nick: I don't know.
Schmidt: ...I will be a millionaire.

Cece: Your dad is dating Trashley Berkman? Didn't she... ?
Jess: Yes. She sexually intercoursed my high school boyfriend George Jiang underneath the bleachers.
Cece: While you were sitting...
Jess: Yes! While I was sitting on those bleachers. Have you ever seen sex from above, Cece? It's horrible. That's why God thinks it's a sin.

Nick: Give him the account. He's a hard worker, and he's a neat freak. How do I know that? 'Cause I share a room with him.
Gina: You two share a room?
Nick: And you should see his side. It is so clean. It looks like the inside of a Japanese subway. Speaking of sharing a bedroom, Brittany's coming over tonight. Uh, so I'm gonna need ten to 15 minutes of privacy for... I don't need 15 minutes. That's excessive. Give me five to ten. That feels braggy. Give me three to five, but no less than three 'cause that's rude to girls.

Bob Day: Damn it. She won't answer any of my calls. I left ten voice mails. Two of them, I'm screaming. Three, I'm crying. One is a long silent one. Nothing! And it's all your fault... both of you guys. But mostly you.

Schmidt: So, I'm... I'm pitching on the sponge account today. It's kind of a... it's kind of a big deal. I'm just wondering why my idea notebook is covered in crimson stains.
Nick: Oh, that's a fair question. It's either Sloppy Joes, or it's blood.
[flashback to Nick getting a nose-bleed while eating Sloppy Joes, using Schmidt's notebook as a tissue]
Schmidt: You unbelievable pig person! You giant, fat pig person! You sloth. You should be living in a tree in Costa Rica, you know that?

Schmidt: We all know that men are idiots.
Gina: How long have you been in my office?
Schmidt: But what we don't know is how much they love to clean.
Gina: You're wasting my time, Schmidt. Go.
Schmidt: Come on, Gina, you have to give me this account. They want to market sponges to men. I'm the only man in the office.
Gina: Oh, speaking of. Sherri, you got the sponge account!
Sherri: Touchdown!
Schmidt: Just hear me out here. The reason why men don't talk about how much they love to clean is because they're afraid to admit it. Give me a chance here. Be the one to put Schmidt on the map. Let's blast America right in the face with a little bit of Schmidt.

Schmidt: 3:00 today... that sounds great. I love that idea. Mm-hmm, you just... you just earned a special thank you in my autobiography. Working title: Punting the Sweet Fantastic.
Gina: I feel like you kind of have to do something to write a book about yourself.

Nick: "Sponges make me feel more exhilarated than any home run or touchdown ever could." This is ridiculous, man. I'm out! I can buy my own pizza. Can somebody please loan me $15? Maybe like 20, 25, depending on toppings, 'cause I'd love to get a bunch of ham.
Winston: Ham.
Coach: What about the tip, dude? What about tip?
Nick: I don't give tips. It's for delivery. You don't tip delivery people, ever.
Winston: You definitely tip delivery people, but...

Cece: So what are you gonna do?
Jess: I could write him a letter about my feelings.
Cece: We... Yeah, but her phone is in her purse, and we could check her phone for dirt on her.
Jess: But he hates letters. He always gets so frustrated opening the envelope.