C.C. Baxter: Ya know, I used to live like Robinson Crusoe; I mean, shipwrecked among 8 million people.
Sylvia: You mean you bring other girls up here?
Kirkeby: Certainly not!
J.D. Sheldrake: Ya know, you see a girl a couple of times a week, just for laughs, and right away they think you're gonna divorce your wife. Now I ask you, is that fair?
C.C. Baxter: No, sir, it's very unfair...
Fran Kubelik: What's a tennis racket doing in the kitchen?
C.C. Baxter: Tennis racket? Oh, I remember, I was cooking myself an Italian dinner.
C.C. Baxter: Miss Kubelik, one doesn't get to be a second administrative assistant around here unless he's a pretty good judge of character, and as far as I'm concerned you're tops.
Fran Kubelik: He's a taker.
C.C. Baxter: A what?
Fran Kubelik: Some people take, some people get took.
Fran Kubelik: I was jinxed from the word go.
Fran Kubelik: I'd like to spell it out for you...
Margie MacDougall: 'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring...
Mrs. Lieberman: Good evening Mr. Baxter.
C.C. Baxter: Evening, Mrs. Lieberman.
Mrs. Lieberman: Some weather we're having.
C.C. Baxter: Yeah.
Fran Kubelik: How could I be so stupid. You would think I should have learned by now.
Fran Kubelik: I wonder how long it takes to get someone you're stuck on out of your system.
C.C. Baxter: The mirror...it's broken.
Fran Kubelik: Yes, I know. I like it that way.
C.C. Baxter: [playing cards] I love you, Miss Kubelik. Did you hear what I said, Miss Kubelik? I absolutely adore you.
Mrs MacDougall: At night, it sorta spooks you. Walking into an empty apartment.
C.C. Baxter: I said I had no family.
C.C. Baxter: (convincing Fran not to jump out of the window) It's only one story down. The best you can do is break a leg.
Fran Kubelik: I never catch colds.
C.C. Baxter: Really. I was reading some figures from the Sickness and Accident Claims Division. You know that the average New Yorker between the ages of twenty and fifty has two and a half colds a year.
Fran Kubelik: That makes me feel just terrible.
C.C. Baxter: Why?
J.D. Sheldrake: Say, Baxter, you gave me the wrong key.
C.C. Baxter: No, I didn't.
J.D. Sheldrake: But this is the key to the executive washroom.
C.C. Baxter: That's right, Mr. Sheldrake.
C.C. Baxter: On November 1st, 1959, the population of New York City was 8,042,783. If you laid all these people end to end, figuring an average height of five feet six and a half inches, they would reach from Times Square to the outskirts of Karachi, Pakistan.
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