Elliot: Every time I turn around, Kelso's there. Ted, he's trying to break my spirit. I mean, do you have any idea what that feels like? [Ted points to his face] I'm sorry. Of course you do.
Ted: Dr. Reid, I'm afraid that nothing you've described constitutes harassment.
Dr. Kelso: Swing and a miss, eh, Dr. Reid? Well, the next time you decide to make a stink over nothing, maybe you should see a lawyer who didn't need five tries to pass the bar exam.
Ted: I have stress-induced dyslexia and you know that, Dr. Oslek.

Dr. Cox: Hey, Betty, Wilma. What the hell? You're only 40 minutes late. Do I smell beer?
J.D.: Oh, we had a few.
Dr. Cox: Newsflash: you can't drink and then come to work. You're not airline pilots.
J.D.: Look, Dr. Cox.
Dr. Cox: No, you look. If someone had asked me just this morning, is there any way that I could have any less respect for you two geniuses, I would have said, "No, no, that's not possible". But lo and behold, you pulled it off. Congratulations. The only problem is I'm fresh out of blue ribbons, so instead you're going to have to settle for a lifetime supply of my foot up your ass. Now, go home. You're not fit to work tonight.

Spence: That guy?
J.D.: Yeah. Maybe it would be easier if I just told you whose butt I haven't had my fingers in.
Spence: Now, that's one of the perks you never hear about. You guys landed your dream jobs, huh?
J.D.: [v.o.] Dream job.
[fantasy: John Dorian, Chocolate King, sits in a chocolate office eating chocolate, with his assistant Turk writing on a chocolate typewriter. "The Candy Man" plays. As J.D. tires of the chocolate egg and chocolate hearts, he pulls off Turk's arm and bites off a finger:]
Turk: Hey, man, how am I supposed to finish this memo?
J.D.: I don't know.