Mr. Treeger: So, uh, is this mistletoe?
Rachel: Huh-huh, no.. no, uh, that, that is basil.
Mr. Treeger: Ah, if it was mistletoe, I was gonna kiss you.
Rachel: Yeah, no, it's still basil.

(To Ross) Nice seizing... gel boy.


Ross: All right, all right, you know how you say I never seize the day? Well, all right, even though he's your super, I'm seizing. Mr. Treeger, here is fifty bucks, merry Christmas.
Mr. Treeger: Oh wow, I didn't get you anything. Here's five back.
Ross: No no, no, that, that's your Christmas tip, alright. Oh, hey, do you think there's a chance you could fix that radiator now?
Mr. Treeger: No can do, like I told the girl, I can't get a new knob until Thursday.
Monica: Ross.
Ross: Yeah.
Monica: Looks like he's playing baseball.
Ross: You mean hardball?
Monica: Whatever.

(To Monica, about fixing the knob) Oh, oh that's right, I forgot about your ability to fuse metal.


(To Ross) For the sixteenth time, no... I do not think you're obsessive.


Ross: Hey, Rach, you know what? I think I know what will make you feel better. How about you make a list about me.
Rachel: What? Forget it Ross, no. I am not gonna stand here and make a list of...
Ross: Come on Rachel.
Rachel: Okay, you're whiny, you are, you're obsessive, you are insecure, you're, you're gutless, you know? You don't ever, you don't just sort of seize the day, you know? You like me for what, a year, you didn't do anything about it. And, uh, oh, you wear too much of that gel in your hair.

Frances: Alright, that is not your father, that's just a picture of a guy in a frame.
Phoebe: Oh God.
Frances: It was your mother's idea. Ya know, she didn't want you to know your real father because it hurt her so much when he left, and, I didn't want to go along with it, but, well then she died and, and it was harder to argue with her. Not impossible, but harder.

Frances: (Reading the obituaries) Esther Livingston. (Scratching out name) Gone.
(Phoebe enters)
Frances: Hi, Phoo.
Phoebe: Hi Grandma. What are you doing?
Frances: Oh, just updating the phone book.

Phoebe: (Handing Chandler a piece of paper) Alright, here, you have to hold this.
Chandler: Okay. (Reading paper) Brake left, gas right?
Phoebe: Yeah, that's my cheat sheet.
Chandler: Where's my seat belt?
Phoebe: Oh, no, no, that side doesn't have one. The paramedics had to cut through it.
(Chandler jumps out the car and gets in the backseat)

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