Geoffrey: Is your friend feeling lost?
Will: Ah! Lost. Yeah, yeah. See, he's feeling lost. You know, he's feeling like the world is just rushing by him, you know. Everybody's getting into all these new things and he's just stuck kicking it in the pool house. Well, I mean, you know, per se. You know, I mean, I guess he's feeling embarrassed you know, that he's the only one that ain't doing nothing.
Geoffrey: Well, then I suggest you tell your friend the story my father told me. It's the tale of the young Earl of Monroe who wanted to build a bridge over the River Mersey. He labored for years and years and finally he was all done and quite proud of himself.
Will: Okay. Okay. So I guess what you're saying is I should just tell my boy that if he applies himself, everything gonna be cool.
Geoffrey: Well, actually, when the earl completed the bridge, he flung himself off it.
Will: Dude killed himself?
Geoffrey: Quite. Now, if you'll excuse me, Master William, I have dinner to prepare.
Will: That's the advice that your father gave you?
Geoffrey: My father was not a well man.

Will: You better watch it, boy. Mess around, blow that whole cake on the floor. Hey, Uncle Phil, come on now. How would you describe the look on your face when we screamed "surprise"?
Philip: Uh... Surprised?
Will: Man, you looked just like a cow caught in the headlights.
Philip: I believe the correct term is "deer caught in the headlights."
Will: Oh, yeah, yeah. I know.

Carlton: Well, it looks like we're all in the fast lane. Except for Will. I mean, someone has to be stuck on the soft shoulder.
Will: [laughs] Y'all hear what he said? Stuck on the soft shoulder. Hey, are all the other munchkins as funny as you?

Hilary: Geoffrey, I know it's a little premature and I know I really didn't have to but being the generous person that I am, I got you a little going-away gift. And that's a real autograph. Go ahead, press the button. Press the button. [on recording] "Geoffrey, get in here, I need you." [speaks] Oh, don't you just love it?
Geoffrey: Love it.

Jazz: Happy birthday, Mr. Banks. Heard you had quite a soiree last night. That's French for "shindig."
Philip: What's French for "unwelcomed guest"?
Jazz: I bought this for you. They're false teeth. They were my grandmom's. She don't need them no more. I know that look. You're not getting any younger. This isn't good for your back. I brought this on myself.
[Uncle Phil throws Jazz out of the house]
Will: Aah! Man, Uncle Phil, you beat your own record by, like, 10 feet.

Geoffrey: Sir, I have the airline on the phone. In lieu of my spring bonus, I think it would be a magnificent gesture if you sent me back to London first class on the Concorde.
Philip: What would you consider an adequate gesture?
Geoffrey: Business class with a kosher meal.
Philip: What would be less than adequate?
Geoffrey: Working here another year.

Carlton: Dad, before I go to Princeton, there's a few loose ends I'd like to tie up. I've taken the liberty of re-drafting your will. Now, if you'll sign right here and initial this little box in the event you lapse into a coma, that'll give us the right to pull the plug.
Will: How about a little sensitivity?
Carlton: All right, but if he keels over today, we're screwed.

Ashley: Okay. I got the color swatches. This is gonna be so much fun, living together.
Hilary: I know, I can't wait.
Ashley: Okay. Ahem. Eggshell in the kitchen and taupe in the living room.
Hilary: I don't think so.
Ashley: We agreed I could pick out the colors.
Hilary: We agreed that you would have input.
Ashley: That's right, and I'm inputting these colors into our apartment.
Hilary: My apartment. And I just changed my mind, you'll have no input whatsoever. [laughs] This is gonna be so much fun, us living together.

Will: Hey, G. What's up, man? Hey, look, I got this friend, right? He kind of got a little problem. See, he got these three cousins and they're all moving on with new and exciting lives and everything.
Geoffrey: Is your friend feeling pensive?
Will: My friend doesn't know what pensive means.

Nicky: [counting candles] Forty-eight, 49, a jillion. Mom, how old are you?
Vivian: Hmm? Younger than your father.
Nicky: But everything's younger than Dad.