Dr. Cox: You usually have to go to a van convention to see art of this quality. You do.
Janitor: I've got to confess though, I cheated a little bit. I used an actual head from the morgue as a model. Be careful, it's actually around here somewhere.
[The Janitor knocks a paint can, which lands on Dr. Cox's foot, sending him crashing to the ground]
Dr. Cox: [groans] I think I heard something break.
Janitor: Here we go. [gives business car]
Dr. Cox: Podiatrist?!?
Janitor: I also buy and sell feet, so anyway you wanna go, I got you covered.
Dr. Cox: Great.
[Dr. Cox notices yellow and red paint mixing together]

Dr. Kelso: Dr. Reid, I thought I would just stop in and say goodbye.
Elliot: Why? I'll still be working here.
Dr. Kelso: Yes, but you won't be working for Sacred Heart, the place that spent a fortune training you only to have you take off for greener pastures. You're like a prostitute that gets paid upfront and then bolts from the restaurant after dinner. It's about common courtesy, Reid, either to your boss or to a kind-hearted john who's given you a lot business over the years. So goodbye, Miss Mei Ling of Gentle Oriental Escort, and goodbye, Dr. Reid. I won't be speaking to either of you ever again.

Dr. Cox: All right, who can tell me anything about Mr. Pierce?
Keith: He uses an oil heater at his house in New Hampshire.
Dr. Cox: That answer was either very sarcastic or very stupid. Either way, I'm whacking you with my clipboard. Brace yourself.
Keith: Wait. He's hypoxic, with a clear chest x-ray, which can be a sign of carbon monoxide poisoning. I learned that watching House.
Lisa: House is a genius.
Dr. Cox: That's it, I'm whacking both of you. Look, I know you all curl up on your futons at night dreaming of cracking a real life medical mystery so that some doctor/supermodel will want to touch your eruption button. But, here's the bad news: this isn't a TV show. There aren't any cameras over here. Real medical mysteries don't happen every week. And doctors damn sure don't look like models. They look like Rex.
Rex: What?
Dr. Cox: Chin up, you ugly bastard. So if you wanna solve a real mystery, go ahead and figure out who's taking my New York Times every Sunday. Or better yet, how about why anybody on the planet actually thinks Dane Cook is funny. As far as Mr. Pierce goes, he has run-of-the-mill pulmonary embolism and I know, I know, it is a boring medical diagnosis. But that's what hospitals are. Boring.