My secret is, I'm in love with Liz Lemon.

They're called Spanx!

For four years I've had to make do with what passes for men around here, with their untucked shirts, boneless faces, their Stars, both Wars and Trek.

Kenneth: Albino monk!
Jack: That's a mirror, Kenneth.

They're probably having beach sex. Which is the third best sex after elevator and White House.

The last thing I remember is going into a closet and changing clothes with Bob Ballard.

Weird in a good way. Like going to the gym drunk.

Kenneth's been out there for an hour telling cleaned-up Garrison Keillor stories.

If this show doesn't work, I might as well let Banks do one of his gay home-invasion fantasies on me.

I get it, treat her like the New York Times treats its readers!

Our health costs are down because we started putting something in the coffee to stop the women from getting pregnant.

[to Liz] You're like a swarthy, big-hipped Kelly Ripa.