George: Let me ask you something. What do you do for a living, Newman?
Newman: I'm a United States postal worker.
George: Aren't those the guys that always go crazy and come back with a gun and shoot everybody?
Newman: Sometimes.
Jerry: Why is that?
Newman: Because the mail never stops. It just keeps coming and coming and coming, there's never a let-up. It's relentless. Every day it piles up more and more and more, and you gotta get it out but the more you get it out the more it keeps coming in. And then the bar code reader breaks and it's Publisher's Clearing House day!

Newman: Well, you've both presented very convincing arguments. On the one hand, Elaine, your promise was given in haste. But was it not still a promise? Hmm? And, Kramer, you did provide a service in exchange for compensation. But, does the fee, once paid, not entitle the buyer to some assurance Of reliability? Hmm? Huh? Ah. These were not easy questions to answer. Not for any man. But I have made a decision. We will... cut the bike down the middle, and give half to each of you.
Elaine: What?! This is your solution?! To ruin the bike?! All right, fine. Fine. Go ahead. [stands up] Cut the stupid thing in half.
Kramer: No, no, no. Give it to her. I'd rather it belonged to another than see it destroyed. Newman, give it to her, I beg you.
Elaine: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Newman: Not so fast, Elaine! Only the bike's true owner would rather give it away than see it come to harm. Kramer, the bike is yours!

Newman: Hello, Jerry.
Jerry: Hello, Newman. What gives?
Newman: I was speaking earlier with Kramer and he mentioned something about a private jet to Paris?
Jerry: Yeah, that's right.
Newman: Well, I hear it's quite beautiful there this time of year, and of course you know I'm one-quarter French.
Jerry: Really?
Newman: Oh, yes. In fact, I still have family there. This probably won't interest you, but I have a cousin there who's suffering very badly. She's lost all use of her muscles. She can only communicate by blinking. I would so love to see her, bring a ray of sunshine into her tragic life. But alas, I can't afford it, for I am, as you know, but a simple postal worker.
Jerry: That's a shame.
Newman: Take me! Take me!
Jerry: Oh, forget it. Pull yourself together. You're making me sick. Be a man!
Newman: All right! But hear me and hear me well. The day will come. Oh, yes. Mark my words, Seinfeld. Your day of reckoning is coming. When an evil wind will blow through your little play world, and wipe that smug smile off your face. And I'll be there, in all my glory, watching. Watching as it all comes crumbling down. [evil laugh]

Kramer: Well, what am I gonna do? I got over two hundred folding chairs, and quite a bit of ice.
Newman: What kind?
Kramer: Cubed.
Newman: That's good stuff, and you can never have too much ice. All right, I'll tell you what I'll do. You can co-host the party with me, under one condition. No Jerry. Jerry is not invited.
Kramer: I gotta invite Jerry. He's my buddy.
Newman: That he may be. But he's outta my life, starting in the year 2000. For me, the next millennium must be Jerry-free!

Newman: Excuse me, Miss Weaver? Oh, my God, it is you. I've seen your show six times.
Jerry: What a surprise.
Newman: You're great. It's great. It's so great to see a show that's about something. [looks at Jerry]

Newman: Gentlemen, gentlemen. I am so happy to see you both. There is just some inconsistencies I'd like to straighten out.
Jerry: I'm clean and you know it.
Newman: Clean? Hardly. This doesn't like like a man that is happy with his stereo performance, now, does it?
Jerry: Where did you get that?
George: I think that's one of mine.
Newman: It looks like you're breaking into it like an otter breaks open a clam.
Jerry: Well, I don't know about that but I'm sure there is a explanation.
Newman: Yes, it's called mail fraud. Oh, how I've longed for this moment, Seinfeld. The day when I would have the proof I needed to hall you out of your cushy lair and expose to the light of justice as the monster that you are. A monster so vile!
Co-worker: Newman!
Newman: There will be a small fine.
Jerry: Okay.

Newman: Oh, calm down, everyone. No one's cancelling any mail.
Kramer: [whispers] Oh, yes, I am.
Newman: What about your bills?
Kramer: The bank can pay them.
Newman: [scoffs] The bank. What about your cards and letters?
Kramer: E-mail, telephones, fax machines. Fedex, telex, telegrams. Holograms.
Newman: All right, it's true! Of course nobody needs mail. What do you think, you're so clever for figuring that out? But you don't know the half of what goes on here. So just walk away, Kramer. I beg of you.

Newman: [panting] Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!
Jerry: What is it?
Newman: Something happened with the Soup Nazi!
Jerry: Wha- What's the matter?
Newman: Elaine's down there causing all kinds of commotion. Somehow she got a hold of his recipes and she says she's gonna drive him out of business! The Soup Nazi said that now that his recipes are out, he's not gonna make anymore soup! He's moving out of the country, moving to Argentina! No more soup, Jerry! No more soup for any of us!
Jerry: Well, where are you going?
Newman: He's giving away what's left! I got to go home and get a big pot!

Newman: You're in trouble, Kramer. I shouldn't even be talking to you, but I'm telling you as a friend. Here's how it's going to happen. You may be walking. Maybe on a crisp, autumn day just like today. When a mail truck will
slow beside you, and a door will open, and a mailman you know, maybe even trust, will offer to give you a lift.
Kramer: Are you through?
Newman: No! And no one will ever see you again!
Kramer: Are you through?
Newman: Yes. No, wait! OK, yes. [seeing agents] Quick! Get in!
Kramer: Oh, no, no, no. That's exactly how you said it was going down.
Newman: There's another way it can go down, and it's going down right now!
Kramer: No. You said a mailman I know, and you're a mailman I know!
Newman: I know you know, but you don't know what I know.
[Kramer is grabbed by the agents]

Kramer: All right. Now you listen, and you listen good. I know who you are. You're the scofflaw.
Newman: [defensive] What are you talking about...
Kramer: Ah, don't play dumb. It's me, Cosmo.
Newman: All right, so it's me. So what?
Kramer: You don't think I know how you're feeling, every second of the day? Looking over your shoulder to see if someone's coming up from behind. Sitting alone at night, knowing they could be closing in.
Newman: I can't sleep, I tell you! I can't sleep!
Kramer: Of course you can't, you poor sap! Now why didn't you tell me?
Newman: I couldn't. I couldn't tell anyone.
Kramer: So you been living this secret the whole time by yourself?
Newman: [sobbing] Yes, it's been awful. I wanted to tell somebody. [pleads] Help me Kramer! Help me!