Latest Quotes Page 4 of 394
Amy: What's wrong?
Sheldon: I'm not sure. Earlier tonight, things began organically, and now it's feeling forced, like all the Pirates of the Caribbean sequels.
Raj: Don't come to the hospital. We're headed home.
Penny: Oh, that was fast. Did she sneeze the baby out?
Sheldon: Childbirth, looming coitus? This is a banner night for female genitals.
Sheldon: This is for you. I was going to wrap it, but touching Scotch tape gives me the heebie-jeebies.
Amy: I'll put in on the list with peaches and felt.
Sheldon: We seem to be moving on to the annual coitus portion of your birthday festivities.
Amy: Is that okay?
Sheldon: I didn't put on my come-hither plaid PJs for nothing.
Sheldon: Well, I believe we were kissing like randy teenagers, and your nose was whistling ever so slightly.
Amy: I'm sorry.
Sheldon: Oh, don't be. You were like a foxy tea kettle.
Sheldon: You know, I just learned Amy went to a theme park without me, but I'm not going to ruin her birthday. I'll wait, and ruin 24 individual hours sprinkled throughout the year.
Sheldon: It's not my fault I'm bad at sharing; I skipped kindergarten.
Sheldon: Come along, Amy. I know when I'm not wanted.
Amy: I don't think you do, but alright.
Leonard: You're good at revenge; how do we get him back?
Penny: Well, my go-to move is usually sleep with the person's boyfriend, but I kind of feel like I'm already doing that.
Raj: Hey, this pregnancy had an emotionally-needy third wheel way before you came along.
Sheldon: He's expecting a newspaper in the morning. Apparently, they still make them.
Sheldon: Oh, now, what about our 3-D chess set?
Leonard: Let me guess, you want it.
Sheldon: Well, no, I just didn't think you'd want a physical reminder of a game you never managed to win. As a kindness, I should probably take all the games.
Sheldon: If it's like your 3-D chess game, then you're out of your length, width and depth. Amy, get the Neosporin, somebody just got burned.
Leonard: All right, I tried.
Sheldon: "All right, I tried." That should be the title of your autobiography. Ooh, a second-degree burn.
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