(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.

Hank: (pulling out Tucker's sutures) Huh. The surgeon did nice work.
Tucker: He was under a lot of pressure.
Divya: Why? Was your father standing over him?
Libby: No. I was.
Tucker: Imagine being Mozart's piano tuner but then more stressful than that.

Hank: Well, I'm ready to leave.
Divya: We just got here.
Evan: You know what? I'm actually with Hank on this one. The average age here is dead.

Sometimes you have to meet family half-way, even if you don't know where their coming from.

Spencer: Welcome to my fathers office.
Divya: It's very homey.

Divya: Tell her it won't take long.
Evan: (in very bad Italian) The clock, it will not last long.