Paul: It's just, well, this is what bothered me the other night. I know there's something wrong but you won't talk about it. I guess sometimes it feels like you're holding back.
Elliot: Of course I'm holding back! I'm insane, you idiot. Remember the other day when you told me I had pit stains? Well, I have cried every 15 minutes on the half-hour since you told me that. I am racked with self-doubt, I have panic attacks, I'm claustrophobic, germophobic, phobia-phobic. I talk to myself, I talk to my cat, I talk to three separate shrinks about the fact that often my cats respond to me in my mother's voice, and yesterday, when that stupid, pretty surgical nurse handed you latex gloves, I almost killed a guy whose leg I was stitching up because I couldn't stop thinking about the two of you having sex on a box of steaks. Why a box of steaks? 'cause my dad had an affair with a female butcher. And, as I mentioned before, I am insane. There, I opened up.

Elliot: I can't take it, Carla. I cannot hide the crazy a minute longer. The worst part is, Paul is this perfect guy who wants to take things slow with me. And I'm just this big mountain of cuckoo about to erupt and spew molten crazy over him and he's gonna die like this.
Carla: Calm down, Elliot. Do what I used to do. Find people who don't even know Paul, and just let it out in little bursts.
Dr. Kelso: Good afternoon, ladies.
Elliot: You know, when I was a kid, I got a sunburn like that. I just peeled all the skin off, put it in a pile and ate it.
Dr. Kelso: Good Lord.

J.D.: [v.o.] Doctors love to use humor. Well, Mr. Foster, your blood tests are back, and the good news is you're not pregnant. [Turk laughs]
[fantasy: J.D. is doing stand-up as Seinfeld music plays:]
J.D.: I said, "not pregnant." Is this thing on? And hey, what is the deal with Q-tips? They're not Qs and they're not tips.

Elliot: I still can't believe you guys are getting married.
Carla: I know. All my girlfriends think I'm crazy. About you because you're so damn cute.
Turk: Good save. Thank you very much for coming out tonight.
J.D.: No, hey, this is the only way to celebrate, with close friends and... Nurse Roberts.
Nurse Roberts: Oh, hey, don't get all pissy now. You said, "My treat, order whatever you want." You didn't say, "Except the lobster."
J.D.: I said no shellfish.

J.D.: [cutesy talk] There she is. Are you ready to be born today?
Jordan: Get away from my stomach or I'll put you in a leg lock and snap your little bird neck with my enormous thighs.
J.D.: Enjoy your special day.
Jordan: Thanks.

Dr. Cox: Now, in honor of this little goblin's arrival, I have gone ahead and taken care of everything. Dr. Gerson will be waiting to induce you. She will also administer the world's largest epidural. I have awfully under-qualified residents covering all of my patients so that I can be with you every step of the way. And here's the kicker. And here's the kicker. I have traded every single one of my weekends, I have called in every favor, and kissed every pompous, wrinkled ass in this fluorescent hellhole so that I could secure for you, the one-and-only, mack-daddy, out-of-your-mind birthing suite in this entire hospital.
Jordan: [light flickers] Nice job, Alice.

J.D.: Morning, Dr. Kelso.
Dr. Kelso: Dr. Dorian, how is it this hospital gets up in arms if our MRI machine misses a tumor, but every morning our lousy coffee machine spits out warm urine and nobody gives two hoots?
J.D.: We missed another tumor?
Dr. Kelso: Who cares? Point is I have to go across the street to get coffee. Piping hot coffee that puts a hop in your step and your ass in the john.

Dr. Cox: OK, here's the deal. You are in fact supposed to be up in the mack-daddy suite, but the woman who's in there is in her 40th hour of labor.
Jordan: Did you explain to her that it is my room?
Dr. Cox: I started to, then she screamed, grunted, and pooped on the table. God, it cracks me up that they never tell pregnant women to expect that one.
Jordan: I'm going to poo in front of people?
Dr. Cox: No. Yeah.
Jordan: We are so done talking.
Dr. Cox: Don't tease me.

Elliot: I know, and with Paul, I feel like we're getting pretty close now.
Carla: So, you guys have-
Elliot: Not yet. But tonight's our fourth date.
Carla: Four dates?
Elliot: One date longer than the sluts, one date shorter than prudes. I am Four-Date Reid.
Carla: Yeah, but what about that surgeon the other?
Elliot: I'm Four-Date Reid!
Paul: Hey, cutie. You ready for our third date?
Elliot: Fourth. You're forgetting about that the time we ran into each other at the coffee machine. [to Carla] You shut up.

Turk: Relax. Nobody knows about this but us. We'll be fine.
Janitor: Hey, hey, hey, guys. Check out the personalized golf club cozy I found on the roof. [cartoon voice] Hi, Davy.
J.D.: You and your stupid Christmas present.
Janitor: Yeah, seems like one of the golf balls you hit went through the windshield of my van. No big deal. I just expect you to replace it.
J.D.: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Your windshield's been broken for, like, a year.
Janitor: Yeah, I know. Still... [cartoon voice] Oh, no! Looks like we're in a pickle. Pick, pick, pickle. [normal voice] Here's the keys. Have it back by tomorrow. Who are you?
Turk: Dr. Turk.
Janitor: I don't care.