Morgan: I don't smoke.
House: Fine. You don't want the seventh graders to think you're cool.

House: The cat was not predicting deaths. It was just trying to keep warm.
Dr. Wilson: Yes, dead people are renowned for their warm glow.

Morgan: I had colds all winter.
House: Well, I've been in this room a while, but it's spring now, right?

Dr. Cuddy: I told you to get rid of "death cat."
House: Do you see a cat?
Dr. Cuddy: I see a litter box.
(House grabs his cane)
House: This is a disability, Dr. Cuddy. Can't make it to the men's room on time.
Dr. Cuddy: You pee on the mice too?
House: Well, now you see the mice actually prove that I don't have a cat.
Dr. Cuddy: Are these... are these the genetically modified lab mice from oncology?
House: Genetically modified for tastiness.

Dr. Wilson: I'm not always nice. I'm not nice to you.
House: Because you know nice bores me. Hence, still nice.

Dr. Cuddy: How's the patient?
Nick: Whoa. I would do here in a minute with fudge and a cherry on top. Would someone please explain to this women? There's only so many apologies I can...
Thirteen: He has frontal lobe disinhibition.
Nick: I've already embarrassed myself with one doctor. Who, I am at this moment imagining with you, in a king-size bed with a mirror on the ceiling... I am so, so sorry. (to Cuddy) But if I couldn't have both of you together, you would definitely be my first choice.
Dr. Cuddy: Where's House?
Nick: Like trying not to think of an elephant. Not that you're an elephant. Your breasts in fact are all homo sapiens.
Dr. Foreman: House isn't here.
Dr. Cuddy: Oh, he wouldn't have paged me if he couldn't watch and enjoy this.

Nick: I don't mean to be abrasive. Especially since you're such a pleasure to imagine naked. Again, sorry.
Thirteen: It's okay.

Kutner: And no marriage either if our patient keeps saying everything that comes into his head without regard for the consequences.
Dr. Wilson: (to House) You always led me to believe you were one of a kind.

I'll pretend to be macho while a guy stuffs three feet of plastic up my nose. (to Taub) It's too bad it's not your nose. Lots more room to maneuver.

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