Will: Buy a vowel, you moron. Buy a vowel! What are you gunning for? Pass it!
Carlton: If I were you, Will, I'd be more concerned with passing the PSATs.
Will: Yeah, and if I were you I'd get a red nose and a set of big floppy shoes, and call it a day.

Carlton: Carlton: Laugh now, but in 10 years I'll be a successful lawyer and you'll be asking people if they want extra ketchup.
Will: If you paid attention in class, like I do, you'd know you can't study for an aptitude test. You either have it... [blows raspberry] or you don't.
Carlton: Yeah, right, and in kindergarten they told me it didn't make a difference where you put the round peg. Next thing I knew I was in the back of the class with a guy who ate paste.

Carlton: Did you say "PSAT scores"?
Will: Yeah.
Carlton: Give me those.
Will: Yo, beat it, man.
Carlton: Come on, Will.
Will: Yo, beat it, man.
Carlton: Will.
Will: Who's the most handsome guy in the world?
Carlton: You are, Will.
Will: Ah, ah, ah, ah. And who's the biggest weenie on the planet for $400? [hums Jeopardy! theme]
Carlton: I am. Give me those.
Will: Man, I don't care what these scores say. You're a dumb young man.

Carlton: Yes, yes, yes! Mom! Dad! I got a 1 14 on the PSATs. I'm smart. I'm brilliant. I'm the most intelligent person who ever lived.

Carlton: Will, why don't you open yours?
Will: I got a 91. [Will laughs]
Philip: Carlton, that's enough.
Vivian: A 91 is a very good... reason why you should take this test again, Will.

Will: You said you got a 114?
Carlton: You got a 116. That's impossible.
Will: Hold it, the 91 must be my percentile.
Carlton: But then, that means that...
Will: [chuckles] I'm the most intelligent guy in the world. You know, Carlton, you're gonna love driving those big rigs, man.
Carlton: Mom, make him stop.
Geoffrey: You can have my job, Master Carlton. I quit.

Carlton: I don't believe it. You couldn't have done better than me. Somewhere there's an Asian Will Smith and he's really ticked.
Will: Carlton, it was one measly little percentile point, all right? But I won't hesitate to throw it in your face if you don't leave me alone.
Carlton: Everyone still knows I have the superior intellect.
Will: Then why are you using car wax on the window? This a window, this is Windex. Can you say that, little boy?

Will: You know, it's hot in here with that oven on. What do you think? It's like 91? Or a measly little 90?
Carlton: I'm telling you, Will, it was a computer error. I'll bet anything.
Will: About what? About $91?

Ashley: Laundry's done.
Philip: Oh, thank you, Ashley, it was sweet of you to... help out. My, everything is so pink.

Will: Coach, are you familiar with the sports injury cerebral-spinal-refrictionation?
Coach: [chuckles] Sure, I mean, isn't everyone?
Will: Then you are familiar with how a refrictionation constrains the range of motion of the upper neck?
Coach: Uh, sure, yeah, that's one symptom.
Will: Then you know that a refrictionation is often brought on by some form of stress and it manifests itself in a compulsive craning of the neck. Whoa, Carlton, you look like one's coming on now. You don't happen to be feeling any stress now, do you?
Carlton: No, l. [Will slaps Carlton's head] Yes, I think I feel it coming on.
Coach: Banks, I'm surprised you didn't come to me sooner.
Will: He's probably a little embarrassed, Coach. I mean, as you can see, he looks like a complete idiot.
Coach: Well, that's very true. You know, I think there seems to be just a big misunderstanding here. I could have caught it myself if I hadn't been so involved in the game. Did I say game? I meant the crisis in the Soviet Union. Dr. Thorvald, there is no cheating going on here. This is obviously a case of cerebral-spinal. Whatever he said. You're dismissed, Banks. [blows whistle]
Carlton: Will, you did it. You got me out of cheating. Yes!
Will: No!