Elaine: Well, Mr. Peterman, I've got a really good idea for a hat.
J. Peterman: [rubbing his neck] Oh, my neck is one gargantuan monkey fist.
Elaine: It combines the spirit of old Mexico with a little big city panache. I like to call it the Urban Sombrero.
J. Peterman: No, no. No pears.
Elaine: Are you okay, Mr. Peterman?
J. Peterman: Yes, yes. Go on, go on, go on.
Elaine: Well, see, it's... businessmen taking siestas. You know, it's the, uh, the Urban Sombrero. [Peterman walks out, groaning] Mr. Peterman?

Mrs. Ross: We know the last three months have been hard on you.
George: Oh, yes, yes, yes. Very, very hard.
Mr. Ross: And they've been hard on us, too. It's a terrible tragedy when parents outlive their children.
George: Yes, I agree. I hope my parents go long before I do.

Elaine: [answers phone] Hello, Mr. Peterman, how are you feeling?
J. Peterman: Elaine, I'll be blunt. I'm burnt out. I'm fried. My mind is as barren as the surface of the moon. I can run that catalog no longer.
Elaine: What? Well, who's gonna do it?
J. Peterman: What about you?
Elaine: Me? Why me?
J. Peterman: Why, indeed.
Elaine: Mr. Peterman, you can't leave.
J. Peterman: I've already left, Elaine. I'm in Burma.
Elaine: Burma?
J. Peterman: You most likely know it as Myanmar. But it will always be Burma to me. Bonne chance, Elaine. [to a passerby] You there on the motorbike! Sell me one of your melons!