J.D.: OK, over here. Guys, Mr. Jenkins spent all night without being treated. Now, I know he's homeless and smells like an obese man's two-sie.
Mr. Jenkins: Hey!
J.D.: Sorry, thought you were dozing. The thing is, guys, it doesn't matter if he's homeless or some senile racist./
Mr. Bursick: Which people do I hate again?
J.D.: Immigrants, Mr. Bursick. You hate all immigrants.
Mr. Bursick: And why do I hate?
J.D.: I don't have time, Mr. Bursick. Guys, if I give you a patient, I expect you to work your butts off for him. And P.S., Mr. Jenkins is a Vietnam vet. So let's take care of him like he took care of our nation. Get out of here!

J.D.: That's how you light a fire under their butts. Perry, you get them going with some inspiration!
Dr. Cox: Too much talking, too much talking, too much talking, too much talking. Why did you order a BMP test on my patient, Mrs. Wilk, last night?
J.D.: Because she's my patient.
Dr. Cox: Interesting, seeing as I admitted her.
J.D.: And I treated her last night.
Mr. Bursick: Dr. Dorian, why do I hate all-?
J.D.: Because they're stealing all of our jobs, Mr. Bursick. Stealing all of our jobs.

J.D.: Perry, we spent an equal amount of time with Mrs. Wilk. Now, seeing as we're both attendings, i.e. "equals," why don't we let her decide who her doctor is, huh?
Dr. Cox: Or we could skip the day trip to Unnecessary-land, and instead, simply concede that Mrs. Wilk is my patient and that, while we are both attendings, we are in no way equals. We are, in fact, not equals. We are hmm, unequals.

Elliot: Mr. Peele, I have run every test, and I cannot find any medical reason for your pain.
Mr. Peele: [groans]
J.D.: [v.o.] Then Elliot did what every good doctor does when they're truly stumped. She pawned him off.
Elliot: I've called a surgical consult.

Elliot: Carla, I don't photograph well. On my driver's license, I look like Gary Busey.
Gary Busey: They say the same thing about me. [laughs]
Turk: See ya later, Elliot.

Dr. Cox: I am gonna let Big Bob here give the first excuse.
Dr. Kelso: Blah, blah, blah. I'm not doing it.
Dr. Cox: I'm caught on his collar!

J.D.: [v.o.] In a hospital, even the best of moods can be ruined simply by somebody handing you a chart.
J.D.: Do you have any family, Mrs. Wilk?
Mrs. Wilk: No. I was married twice. Divorced one, the other died. Wrong one died.
J.D.: Look, Mrs. Wilk, you have something called systemic amyloidosis. Now, it's in your liver now, but it'll eventually shut down all your organs. There is a treatment, but it's very invasive and, at best, it'll just give you a little more time.
Mrs. Wilk: Well, I've had a great life, so...
J.D.: Say no more. I'm gonna take amazing care of you.
Mrs. Wilk: OK.

J.D.: What are you doing here?
Dr. Cox: Mrs. Wilk was asking me questions that I actually thought would be best answered by you.
Mrs. Wilk: Why did that sweaty attorney ask me if my affairs were in order?
J.D.: Because I wanted to make sure that you're as comfortable as possible.
Mrs. Wilk: As comfortable as possible? For what?
Dr. Cox: I'm going to sit for this.
J.D.: For the place that you're going. You know, the big puffy clouds, bright lights, all your old friends...
Mrs. Wilk: Seattle?
J.D.: No, no, no. Not Seattle. The... You know, the "dying peacefully" place.
Mrs. Wilk: What are you talking about?
Dr. Cox: Now, I'm going to stand.
J.D.: This morning, you told me you'd had a great life.
Mrs. Wilk: Exactly. And I'd like to continue it.
J.D.: Oh, this is just a misunderstanding. I'm so sorry. Tell her it's a misunderstanding.
Dr. Cox: He's tried to kill before.

J.D.: [v.o.] In a hospital, the words "I'm sorry" can mean a lot of different things.
Turk: So, the surgery went fine. Unfortunately, I didn't find any medical reason for your pain.
J.D.: [v.o.] It can mean, "I'm giving up on you."
Turk: I'm sorry.
J.D.: [v.o.] It can mean you're not sorry at all.
Janitor: Sorry your picture didn't come out.
Carla: Yeah.
J.D.: [v.o.] And, sometimes, "I'm sorry" can mean your services are no longer needed.
Mrs. Wilk: I'm sorry, Dr. Dorian.
Dr. Cox: So you gave her the old death sentence, did ya? In the business, we call that a rookie mistake, but thanks for playing.

Dr. Kelso: Who the hell's responsible for this?
J.D.: [v.o.] Unfortunately, not even my giant mouthful of apple-pear-orange-banana-cherry-berry could lift my depression about losing my patient to Dr. Cox.