Divya: (to Evan) You saw those zeros on that check and lost all ability to think.
Captain Brian: In his defense, it was a lot of zeros.

Divya: Hank, this is Kylie.
Kylie: I'm the disgruntled mistress.
Hank: Hello. Nice to meet you.
Kylie: It's 'cause I didn't go to college and I hate retail.

Divya: He's you. Uninterested in anything beneath a woman's surface.
Evan: I try to see beneath their surface. That's why I stare so hard.

Divya: People pay to be treated, not coddled. And I don't give a tinker's curse for your marketing drivel.
Evan: I can't debate you if you talk gibberish that sounds kind of like something a chimney sweep from Mary Poppins would say, but you can't cure him unless you win his trust first.

Alan Rider: So what are you gonna check for now?
Divya: Epididymitis or testicular orchitis.
Alan Rider: Uh, neither of those sounds any good.
Divya: I don't name them. I just treat them.

Divya: Will that be sufficient?
Alan Rider: Delightful. On behalf of me and my genitals, thank you.

(to Evan) Be quiet. Be professional. Be-have. But mostly be quiet.

(after Divya asks Evan to translate her words to Valentina)
Divya: Valentina may have TB.
Evan: I'm not getting a disease. Are you kidding me? Especially one I didn't have any fun catching.

(trying to communicate with a chef who only speaks Italian)
Divya: Tell her it won't take long.
Evan: (in very bad Italian) The clock, it will not last long.

Divya: Here's an idea -- let's have dinner, but absolutely no conversation.
Evan: Yeah, like we're married.

(toasting at the restaurant)
Hank: To Allison.
Divya: To Valentina.
Evan: And to two more checks in the mail.

Divya: (talking to Evan on the phone) Just soak some hot towels in household vinegar. Apply the compress for 20 minutes two to four times a day. You'll all be fine by next week, although you'll still be an idiot. (hangs up the phone)
Hank: You'd make a great older brother.