Big Schmidt: Oh, these people are real desert-y. I don't think this is the kind of place where you're gonna want to s...
Schmidt: [loud thud] Somebody watch that.
J. Cronkite Valley-Forge: I must say, this is not my favorite sort of white people in here.
Nick: Me neither. My favorite kind of white people are redheads with high socks. Male or female.

Big Schmidt: Hey, hey, hey, huh?
Winston: Welcome fellow groomsmen. Big Schmidt, your minivan is sweet as hell, dude.
Big Schmidt: Yeah. Well, you know, I got it for the kids, but, uh, it's not quite the chick magnet I was hoping for.
Winston: Yeah, of course not.
Big Schmidt: I mean, I-I am straight hounding for some Sin City strange, you know. I don't care if it's a man, woman, or child.
J. Cronkite Valley-Forge: You really should care if it's a child.
Winston: Yeah, them kids, man.
Robby: Yeah, no children.
Big Schmidt: No. God, God, of course not. You know, that's not what I'm saying. I was just listing...

Nick: [to Schmidt] What is going on with you?
Cece: Yeah, babe. Just because a scary man yelled his name in your face doesn't mean you can't like sake baths.

Cece: How's the planning of the bachelor party coming?
Schmidt: Well, Tokyo is not happening. Turns out Nick booked the trip on a Web site called Pricelive.cob.
Cece: Right.
Schmidt: That's a scam.
Cece: Yeah.
Schmidt: I'm sure. I'm sure of it.

Man: Well, we have one convertible left.
Schmidt: No. That's not tough. Yellow convertibles are for horny beach trash.
Man: I drive a yellow convertible.
Nick: It's my boy's bachelor party. If he says you're horny beach trash, then you're horny beach trash.
Man: I'm a good person.

Big Schmidt: Are you on your phone, man?
Winston: Huh? What are you...? Huh? No, no, I am... nah.
Big Schmidt: Enough with the phone.
Robby: What are you doing?
Winston: I was, uh... I was looking at this-this children's book. Yeah, this ugly duckling about to be fine as hell at the end. Sexy ass swan. Got me picking feathers out of my teeth for days.
J. Cronkite Valley-Forge: It's not the feathers you have to worry about. It's the eggshells.

Robby: Whoa. I didn't know you could fall off those things.
Schmidt: Well, you can't, but I did it anyway. 'Cause I'm not friggin' tough enough to ride a mechanical tricycle.
Nick: Hey, it could have happened to anybody, Schmidt.
Schmidt: No, it couldn't have. It could only happen to me.
Nick: You crashed. You chunked. You beefed. You came off your bike. That's cool as hell. You got injured.
Schmidt: Yeah, you know, my neck does feel a little... I don't know... off.
Nick: Well, yeah, your neck's off. It's-it's hurt. You got hurt on a hog, man. And what are you gonna do with that pain? What does a man do about that pain?
Schmidt: He takes a bubble bath.
Nick: No. He drinks the pain away. Here's what we're gonna do. You see that biker bar? We're gonna walk inside. You're gonna take your helmet off. You're gonna slam it down. You're gonna tell somebody to watch it. You're gonna put Seeger on the jukebox. And you're gonna drink some whiskey.
Schmidt: Some clear-cut accomplishables. That sounds pretty manly.

Winston: What are we doing? Stopping for coffee? Let me get a scone. Unless it's raspberry, in which case I'll take a chocolate chip cookie.
Big Schmidt: That's it. Give me the phone.
Winston: Whoa, no, no, no, no. Look, I just texted Jess to see if Aly and Tripp broke up, okay? And she's replying, man, the dots are up. All right? Look, I need to know if Aly is single.
Big Schmidt: Oh, all right, well, let me see real quick. Give me that thing.
Winston: Hey, hey, hey. Oh! [cell phone dings] Oh! That ding. That ding. That's for me. That's for me. You got to let me check.
Big Schmidt: Hell no. Uh-uh. This phone is on lockdown in pocket town. [whoops] Did you hear what I just said?

Schmidt: Hey, barkeep. Let me get a whiskey on ice.
Dusty Sand: [slams table]
Schmidt: What? What'd I say?
Dusty Sand: Did he say something about ice? Where are you boys from?
Schmidt: I'm from Los Angeles.
Nick: East side. The... more... uh... east... east downtown.
Blaze Sand: Big city boys trying to come to our desert and freeze the little water we got left. 'Cause you're too soft for a hot whiskey.
Nick: No-no one's bad mouthing hot whiskey. Hot Whiskey was my first chat room name.

Schmidt: Ooh, God, I hope I get to kick somebody in the head. What are you doing with that window? You letting a bee out? That's dope, man.
Nick: N-N-N-N-N-No. We're escaping. We're not fighting those guys.
Schmidt: What? I thought you s-said that we're going to meet them outside?
Nick: Uh, yeah. And they believed it. It's a great trick. It's how the Millers have never had to pay for a ham.