[stand-up:]
Jerry: Do you think that the security guards in the art museums really ever stop anybody from taking the paintings? I mean, are they going up to people going, "Hey, where do you think you're going with that? Hey, come over here. Come over here. Give me that Cezanne." I mean, look at the job that this man is hired to do. He's getting five dollars an hour to protect millions of dollars of priceless art with what? He's got a light mocha brown uniform and a USA Today. This is what he's got. I mean, crooks must look at this guy and think, "Well, all we've got to do is get past the folding chair and the thermos of coffee, and we can get a Rembrandt."

Jerry: Wait, wait a second! Go back, go back to that.
Elaine: It's Chapter 2. It's Neil Simon.
Jerry: Wait a second. Wait a second. My God. The letter. That's the letter.
Elaine: What letter?
Jerry: This is the letter she wrote to me. She stole it right from the movie!
Jerry: [in unison with the woman on TV] "...'cause you don't even make the slightest effort to offer happiness still know that I love you!"
George: This is incredible.
Jerry: I always thought there was something funny about this letter. She's copied it right out of Chapter 2. She's a thief, a bunko-artist!
George: Maybe I won't send her that check.
Elaine: You know, it's not really that terrible.
Jerry: What are you talking about? She completely misrepresented herself. I don't opt for happiness? I opt for happiness. James Caan doesn't opt for happiness!

[A wealthy, elderly couple admire Nina's painting of Kramer:]
Mrs. Armstrong: I sense great vulnerability. A man-child crying out for love. An innocent orphan in the post-modern world.
Mr. Armstrong: I see a parasite. A sexually-depraved miscreant, who is seeking to gratify basest and most immediate urges.
[cut:]
Mrs. Armstrong: His struggle is man's struggle. He lifts my spirit.
Mr. Armstrong: He is a loathsome, offensive brute. Yet I can't look away.
[cut:]
Mrs. Armstrong: He transcends time and space.
Mr. Armstrong: He sickens me.
Mrs. Armstrong: I love it.
Mr. Armstrong: Me too.