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.

Bernadette: I dont know. Dead people's dresses?
Penny: Yeah, and cap sleeves?
Amy: I was hoping you wouldn't notice. Irene was always a slave to a good bargain when it came to clothes, and sadly as it turned out, space heaters.

Sheldon: Ladies, please. These four walls once housed an intellectual salon where the mind received nourishment as well as the stomach. But through no one's fault, Penny, the quality of dinner conversation in this apartment has declined. And again, I'm looking at no one in particular, Penny.
Leonard: Fine. What would you like to talk about, Sheldon?
Howard: "What would you like to talk about, Sheldon?" Why do you hate us?
Sheldon: I've prepared a number of topics that should appeal to both the advanced and novice conversationalists.
Penny: Okay, that time you looked at me.

Sheldon: Topic one. Faster-than-light particles at CERN, paradigm-shifting discovery or another Swiss export as full of holes as their cheese? And converse.

Leonard: Hey, Amy, what brings you to our neck of the woods?
Amy: Your neurology department loaned me a culture of prions for my research on bovine spongiform encephalopathy.
Sheldon: She popped by to borrow a cup of mad cow disease.
Amy: It's hard to make degenerative brain maladies hilarious, and yet somehow you do it.

Howard: Can we get that off the table and change the subject?
Sheldon: Can we? Stand back while I turn this conversation into a conver-sensation.
Leonard: This time, it's your fault.
Sheldon: I have 100 alphabetized topics from "Artichoke, come on, people, it's just a giant thistle" to "ZZZ, the onamona-poetry of sleep".

Leonard: Amy, how long would it take for that mad cow disease to kill me?
Amy: I don't know, four or five years.
Leonard: No, it's not gonna do it.

Leonard: Leonard's coming down the home stretch. Come on, horsey, you can do this Damn. Come on, thigh muscles, you can do this. Yes, first place! I would have been a great jockey if I weren't too tall. And scared of horses.

Amy: Sheldon, what are you doing here?
Sheldon: You didn't respond to any of my electronic communications.
Amy: I wanted to be alone.
Sheldon: Would you like to talk about it? And keep in mind that no is a perfectly viable answer.

Amy: Sheldon, my world is crumbling around me.
Sheldon: Point of order. As you're in distress, it would be customary for me to offer you a hot beverage. But I'm a guest in your home, so it would be customary for you to offer me a beverage. How do you want to proceed vis-a-vis beverages?