Amy: That's nothing. In ninth grade, the girls put Rogaine in my hand lotion. Within six months, the nicknames began to fly. I think the one that hurt the most was Gorilla Fingers Fowler.
Penny: Wow. You poor thing.

Amy: Who would have thought Fuzzy Fingers Fowler is best friends with a bully?
Penny: What? I was not a bully.
Bernadette: Kind of sounds like you were. And maybe a felon.
Amy: Shh. That's how you wind up in a cornfield.

Penny: Wait, wait, wait, guys, just hang on.
Amy: What is it, the fuzz?
Penny: Look at us. What are we doing?
Amy: I was gleefully following you to a life of crime, looking forward to the day we might be cell mates. I don’t know about Bernadette.

Stuart: Can I help you find anything?
Amy: A comic that doesn't depict a woman whose bosom can be used as a flotation device.

Amy: Sheldon I'm disappointed, as a brilliant man you're entitled to a vice. I could understand frequenting an opium den or hunting your fellow man for sport, but this? Lame-o!
Sheldon: Well, A, comic books employ story telling through sequential art, a medium that dates back 17, 000 years to the cave paintings of Lascaux, and B, you play the harp. Like that's cool.

Amy: (Reading Sheldon's relationship agreement) Section 5, Hand Holding: Hand holding is only allowed under the following circumstances: A. either party is in danger of falling of a cliff, precipice or ledge; B. either party is deserving of a hearty hand shake after winning a Nobel prize; C. moral support during flu shots.

Amy: If you're keeping him, I've got a cage you can borrow. One of the test monkeys slipped on a banana peel and broke his neck. It was both tragic and hysterical.

Amy: So I guess you have to have hollow bones to get some sugar around here.

Amy: Sheldon, the only way to get past this fear is to interact with it. Just like you did with the mailman.

Amy: Sheldon, sometimes you forget, I'm a lady. And, with that comes an estrogen- fueled need to page through thick glossy magazines that make me hate my body.

Amy: Whee! Ooh, finally someone found second base.

(Amy & Sheldon are awkwardly cuddling.)
Amy: I'm just saying, second base is right there.

Amy: Sheldon, I'm going to ask you something, and Id like you to keep an open mind. Sheldon: Always.
Amy: At this moment, I find myself craving human intimacy and physical contact.
Sheldon: Oh, boy. You know ours is a relationship of the mind.
Amy: Proposal, one wild night of torrid lovemaking that soothes my soul and inflames my loins.
Sheldon: Counterproposal, I will gently stroke your head and repeat "Aww, who's a good Amy?"
Amy: How about this? French kissing, seven minutes in heaven culminating in second base.
Sheldon: Neck massage, then you get me that beverage.
Amy: We cuddle. Final offer.
Sheldon: Very well. Oh, boy.

Bernadette: It would mean so much if you would be the maid of honor at my wedding.
Amy: What? Wait is this some kind of practical joke? Like in Norway when my "friends" trapped me in a sauna with a horny otter?

Amy: Girlfriends, I have the answer to our dress problems.
Bernadette: Really?
Amy: Twelve years ago, my cousin Irene and her entire family died in a horrific carbon monoxide accident the night before her wedding.
Bernadette: That's horrible.
Amy: Yes and no. All those bridesmaids dresses remain unused and available to us for free. So it seems that cloud of odourless deadly gas had a silver lining after all. Check it out, still in the bags. The gowns, not the bridesmaids.