Drew: Hey.
Denise: Don't talk. I have something to say, and after I say it, I don't want you to say anything back, and I don't want you to look at me, and I don't want it acknowledged at all. I love you. Now, don't talk to me for a couple days.

Lucy: Every week is already Hell Week. How could it get any worse? Hey, did you have Hell Week at your med school?
Denise: Yes, it stressed me out so much, my throat seized up for, like, a year.
Cole: God, how bad was it?
[flashback to Denise crying as she eats pie, fully-clothed, in the shower. She manically laughs as she throws her textbook and cracks the mirror.]
Denise: [hoarse] I'm not gonna lie. It left a few psychological marks. One of you is probably gonna crack. I'm looking at you, Jet Li. But hey, good luck. I'm rootin' for ya.

Denise: Why are you moping around like a tiny girl bitch?
Turk: Wow. Can't you ever just be like "Hi," or even better, "What's up?"
Denise: Sure. What's up, tiny girl bitch?

Denise: Now that I guess we love each other, we should probably share all our weird secrets.
Drew: All right, you go first.
Denise: I cry when I watch The Bachelor. I watch The Bachelor.
Drew: I, uh, lost my virginity to a sofa.
Denise: I like when ice skaters fall down.
Drew: Doesn't count. Everybody likes that.
Denise: I like when children fall down.
Drew: I love you.
Denise: Fine! I love you, too.

Denise: You're leaving me for Cox right now?
Drew: Yeah. Is that all right?
Denise: No. Yeah, that's fine. Go. It's just, all this talk about, you know, dying is making me think of my childhood dog, Rascal... Flats Paws.
Drew: You had a dog named Rascal Flats Paws?
Denise: It's an Indian name, okay? We got him from a Navajo rescue center. I taught him how to skateboard and he was really good, until my dad ran him over. The bastard did it on purpose.
Drew: Wait, are you screwing with me?
Denise: Yeah, Drew, that's what I do. I make up stories about my dead skateboarding Indian dog and my abusive father just to mess with you. That's... Yeah. Oh, just forget it.
Drew: Uh, no, it's fine. I'll stay.

Denise: Hey, should we get married today?
Drew: What?
Denise: We've been dating for four months. I mean, it's pretty good, right? Let's stop screwing around and just get it over with. Who cares?
Drew: Okay, obviously your diet of power bars and boxed wine has scrambled your brain. We got a great thing going here, you know? Why mess with it?
Denise: Yeah, you're probably right. It was just an idea.
Drew: Okay.
Denise: Let's make a baby instead. I'm kidding. I'm kidding. I'm on my birth control... I think. Yeah. Uh...

Denise: Yeah, I'm just gonna keep this on your bed for a while, since we always sleep in mine anyway. And until they fix the hole, I figured this area could kind of be like a den/hangout/place where we have dirty sex on top of my hockey equipment.
Drew: Oh, honey, Lucy's here.
Denise: Oh, I'm sorry. I should clarify. The sex is actually pretty vanilla. It's the hockey equipment that's dirty.

Lucy: Ben? I am very upset with you. You tricked me. All old and cute on the outside and horrible and cruel on the inside. I was planning an amazing tribute for you. Stories and poems and a dozen purple balloons to signify a cluster of grapes. Well, now I'm gonna pop them so they look like raisins, nature's saddest fruit. All shriveled and dry.
Denise: Hey. Stop being weird. I'm trying to eat my sandwich around some corpses.
Lucy: Why are you eating lunch in here?
Denise: Why are you yelling at a dead guy? See? We all got a lot of questions.
Lucy: I'm yelling at Ben because I made this really beautiful tribute for him, and it turns out he was a jerk.
Denise: So? Did he have all his parts?
Lucy: Yeah.
Denise: Were you able to slice through his tendons, sift through his lower intestines and study the anatomy of his right hepatic flexure?
Lucy: Yes.
Denise: Then he was exactly who he was supposed to be. Who cares if he was a jerk in real life?

Drew: Is this a, uh, sledgehammer?
Denise: Is what a sledgehammer?
Drew: This sledgehammer. You're the one who put the hole in the wall?
Denise: I may have. Look, I mean, room and board is expensive. I think that we should live together next year. So this was my way of easing you into it, you know? Getting you comfortable with the idea. I'm curious to see whether it worked. This is where you say...
Drew: I'm in love with a sociopath?
Denise: Wrong. Yes or no. I mean, it's your life. Sort of.
Drew: Yes.

Elliot: Come with me.
Denise: I'm with a patient.
Elliot: [scoffs] Dementia? Please. Don't bring that weak sauce in here. He'll never know you're gone.
Denise: Fine. I'll just take my jacket off, put it over the IV stand, and he'll probably think it's still me.