Mr. Rostenkowski: It's gonna be okay, son.
Howard: You really think so?
Mr. Rostenkowski: Of course. A pretty girl like Bernadette, she'll find a new guy.

Bernadette: I think what we're all trying to say is that you don't seem to be remembering how traumatic the experience was for you.
Raj: Like how women often forget the pain of childbirth.
Mike Rostenkowski: Like a woman. Great analogy.

Mike: I know I'm hard on you, but you're not the worst son-in-law in the world.
Howard: Mike, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.
Mike: Well, I'm drunk.

Mr. Rostenkowski: Walnut?
Howard: No, thank you. I'm allergic.
Mr. Rostenkowski: Oh, sure. My partner used to have that. He's dead now.
Howard: From nuts?
Mr. Rostenkowski: Nah, his wife shot him. But she was nuts, so in a way.

Mr. Rostenkowski: Walnut?
Howard: No, thank you. I'm allergic.
Mr. Rostenkowski: Oh, sure. My partner used to have that. He's dead now.
Howard: From nuts?
Mr. Rostenkowski: Nah, his wife shot him. But she was nuts, so in a way.

Amy: We're playing doctor. Star Trek style.

Sheldon: For example, this morning I was calculating the random motion of virtual particles in a vacuum, when suddenly the particles morphed into an image of Amy's dandruff gently cascading down onto her pale, slightly hunched shoulders. Oh, what has that vixen done to me, Leonard? And how do I make it stop?