Nick: I feel like one of those characters in the show Sax and the City talking about this.
Winston: Oh, no, you mean, um, uh, Sex and the City.
Nick: I'm talking about the one with the four ladies in a jazz band.
Winston: That's not a show.
Nick: Carrie, Miranda...
Winston: No.
Nick: The other one and the older one.
Winston: You're thinking of Sex and the City.
Nick: They would never allow that 'cause of the title.

Reagan: Well, you are weirdly checking all of my boxes, so... I'll come take a look.
Nick: Great, good. The, uh, the address is... right here on the form under my name.
Reagan: Great, I'll see you tonight. Good luck with your... "smush pain that feels like everything came out of the sandwich."
Nick: Doesn't even hurt that much, actually.

Schmidt: Look, I'm sorry for not being open with you. The truth is-is I still can't believe that you're gonna marry me. You spent the summer of 2003 at the MTV Beach House. I spent that same summer watching Felicity on VHS and recording a fake radio show where I reviewed snacks. I love you. And I know you love me. And so... [Cece gasps as Schmidt pulls out a ring box, then reveals it's empty] I give you my trust. You've always had it. And I don't feel the need to show the world that I own you by putting some gaudy gem on your hand.
Cece: I love you. [chuckles]
Nick: Ha-ha!
Cece: But you are getting me a real ring.
Schmidt: You're gonna have a diamond the size of a raisin. We can go tomorrow. We'll pick it out together.

Cece: Ouch... shoot. [inhales sharply]
Reagan: Hold on, let me see. Okay. You know what? Hold on a second. We have this new heat-activated antiseptic gel. You're gonna love it. Astronauts use it to masturbate.

Reagan: Why don't I see any orders for Recombinex from you this month, Don?
Dr. Richards: Well, um...
Reagan: What is this? Spectavir, Donny? Are you kidding me?
Dr. Richards: Maybe we can talk when you've...
Reagan: When I've had a chance to consult my physician about the possible side effects of Spectavir? Side effects which include dry mouth and diarrhea, wet mouth and constipation, butt sneezing, hysterical deafness, unwelcomed night-running, dusty semen...
Dr. Richards: You know what, why don't I put in an order for Recombinex.
Reagan: Ooh, great, but only if you want to.
Dr. Richards: Anything else I can do for you?
Reagan: Not unless you can get me a hotel room downtown for the next month. My company is putting me at the Redbrick Lodge and Seafood Hut. My key is a fish.

Reagan: Look. Cece is definitely too good for you.
Schmidt: I know.
Reagan: No, but seriously. Like, she's way too good for you.
Schmidt: No, I know that.
Reagan: Like, you should have never had a shot. It doesn't make any sense.
Schmidt: No, trust me. I said, like, I-I've known this the whole time.
Reagan: I understand quantum physics more than I understand how you ended up with Cece.

Nick: So that's where you'd put your, uh, body at night. Alone or with somebody. Up to you.
Winston: Ooh.
Reagan: Well, I like the room.
Nick: Great.
Reagan: I think I just want to get rid of the pillows, the yarn, the tote bags and anything else that makes me
feel racist against white people.
Winston: That's everything Jess owns, now, isn't it, Nick?
Nick: Gone. It's all gone. We'll take care of it.

Winston: Don't be embarrassed, man. I want magic, too. I want her to have a metal bra, and then I got a sword in my hand, and guess what, we both wearing skirts. And we're riding on flying horses.
Nick: That's more like dork magic.

Aly: Okay, I don't want to upset you guys, but if you keep looking for magic, you're gonna be alone forever.
Nick: Did you just say you don't mean to upset us and then tell us we're gonna end up alone?
Aly: I actually don't care if I upset you.
Nick: Yeah, 'cause that's really upsetting.
Winston: You know, I got to... I got to say, I'm with Aly on this one; she's making sense. Which is why she always plays "smart cop" when we play "Smart Cop/Dumb Cop."
Aly: Not a game we play. I'm super worried you think we do, terrified.
Winston: I feel like we're playing it right now.
Nick: Great "dumb cop," great "smart cop."

Nick: Winston is the loft warrior. I'm kind of the rock of the group.
Winston: Really? He's the rock of the group, and I'm sure Reagan would love to see how the rock lives.
[cut to an uncharacteristically clean, tidy and nicely-appointed version of Nick's room:]
Winston: Oh, my God, it's worse than I thought.
Nick: So this is my room. I love it; it's my safe place. This is where I write my letters to editors. I'm a writer. It's where I also write checks to poor people. Charity is so important to me. Over there, that's, of course, my bed. That's where I dream, that's where I sleep, and with a lucky lady, I do sex. Do with her. This is where I do my exercises.
Winston: I'm fascinated. What exercises do you do?
Nick: Anything that involves the body, I do. I'm good, uh, as my coach says, horizontally and vertically. What does that even mean?
Reagan: Your life coach?
Nick: Uh, my trainer, my coach, my leader, my guru. [groans]
Reagan: Is that a bowl of mashed potatoes under your bed?
Winston: May God help us if it's not.