Jess: Why isn't Nick gone? It's been four hours. Reagan's on a plane, Secret Santa's in an hour, I'm freaking out...
Robby: Well, you can call me Ice Cube. Because I'm done wrapping.
Jess: That is how you won me over.

Jess: What is Darlene Love doing here?
Robby: Uh, we used to do hot yoga together.
Jess: Oh.

Robby: I know you're capable of messing up.
Jess: Really? Because you won't even admit that the gym thing is my fault. Your lawyer wants you to sue me, and frankly, I agree with her. So sue me.
Robby: I am not gonna sue you.
Jess: Then how can I ever trust you?
Robby: That doesn't make any sense.
Jess: You know what? If you're not gonna sue me, then get out of here.
Robby: Fine. But I will tell you this: you will not be hearing from my lawyer.

Schmidt: I'm Schmidt. I, too, was a sexual partner of Cece. Welcome to the party.
Robby: Thank you for having me. Let me just tell you this is a very impressive party. There's speakers everywhere. There's one over there. I saw two on the back wall. Oh, there's one right there. Didn't see that one before.
Schmidt: Yeah, there's a lot of speakers. Lot of... Lots of speakers. Yeah. So, so what's your deal? I mean, do you vacation in Europe ever?
Robby: No. You know, I've never left California in my life.
Schmidt: You in a band?
Robby: I don't, I don't like music. What's up with me, you know?
Schmidt: You work for Goldman then?
Robby: For who?
Schmidt: This feels good. I'm gonna go.
Robby: Congratulations on your penis, man.

Robby: Look, let's just cut the crap, okay? I know you think I'm dumb, and you can hit on Cece and make fun of me all day long, but I'm not going anywhere, all right?
Schmidt: You're a big guy, you know that?
Robby: Yeah.
Schmidt: Luckily, I've got a stone forehead.
Robby: What? [blocks Schmidt's forehead with his hand] I'm sorry.
Schmidt: No, it's cool, man.
Robby: You just tried to head-butt me. I had to stop you.
Schmidt: No, yeah, yeah. I got you. I got you.
Robby: All right. [blocks Schmidt again]
Schmidt: Damn it!
Robby: Schmidt, you did it again.
Schmidt: How do you see that coming every time?
Robby: You wind up. You make, like, a little wind-up thing. I just...
Schmidt: Hit me right in the forehead.
Robby: Yeah, well, you tried to head-butt me with your forehead.
Schmidt: Yeah, I know I was trying to head-butt you.

Robby: Okay, listen. I think there's two options here. We can either go the way that things have been going and we're going to have a big problem, or we can just knock this off and let's be friends, okay?
Schmidt: I'm sorry.
Robby: Okay. I'm sorry, too.
My bad.
Robby: Schmidt: I'm sorry, too.
Schmidt: No, truce.
Robby: All right, truce. [blocks Schmidt again] Will you stop trying to head-butt me, man?
Schmidt: I just... [again]

Robby: I have no idea how they deep-fry a turkey dinner, but I am so glad they do because I love it.
Schmidt: Do you love your legs? Because, I'll tell you, diabetes doesn't.

Cece: Just... what are you going to wear?
Schmidt: Plan B was always Matthew McConaughey in Magic Mike, so... Always got to have a plan B, Robby. [to a kid who offers his hat] Thanks, man.
Robby: Wow. I mean, look at his thighs. They're like fleshy tree trunks. Whoa. I mean, he just knows how to work the crowd. I mean, his thighs are, like, the size of my head.

Robby: Schmidt.
Schmidt: Robby? Robby, what are, what are you doing here, man?
Robby: I'm spying on Cece.
Schmidt: Cece.
Robby: You know, I'm still in love with her, so... this is pretty much your basic broken-hearted spying thing. It's why I got this hat.
Schmidt: Aw, come on, Robby, you got to get over that.
Robby: Wait a second, are you spying on Cece, too?
Schmidt: [scoffs] No. What?
Robby: Are you still in love with Cece?
Schmidt: No, that's still... Yes, I am. It's killing me.
Robby: Me, too! Bring it in, man.

Robby: Check this out. We get seersucker suits...
Schmidt: Yeah.
Robby: And two more guys, and then we serenade her with a barbershop quartet.
Schmidt: Well, if we got ten more guys and a plan, we'd form an Ocean's Twelve. I would be Brad Pitt, you'd be the crafty Asian fellow who does the, uh, who does the flippies.
Robby: Oh, I got a great idea. We can name a star after her, all right? I know this Web site, and we could put one that's right near the Robbies one through eight.
Schmidt: You have eight stars?
Robby: There's, like, a billion stars, they're really cheap.
Schmidt: But eight of them are yours?
Robby: That's only going to go up in value.
Schmidt: It's a horrible investment. I know she's into that Gandhi crapola. We could self-immolate.
Robby: I feel like we're so close.