Abby Mays: Just because I am ugly, doesn't mean I'm attracted to ugly, Dr. Troy. I get all the magazines. I watch MTV. I'm as affected by the media as anyone else.

Cake Tasting Hostess: [to Christian and Sean] I'm sorry, I just have to say something: I've been doing this for a lot of years, and you two are the most elegant, sharing couple I've ever met.

Christian Troy: What about the elves? I always thought it was indentured servitude. Are you going to do something about that?

Christian: [Referring to prolonging Momma Boone's surgery of separating her from the couch] She's not Julia, Sean. The separation can't go on forever.

Christian: [referring to Sean] He was my mirror, you know? I'd look at him and see who I was.
Kimber: Baby, you can't depend on mirrors. They can make you look fat or old or too thin. And Sean's made you look small. Way smaller than you are.

Christian: [to Kit] If I'm not home by ten o'clock and deep into a beer and some Chinese food, I'll have my lawyer sue you for defamation of character, false arrest and, if possible, being a royal bitch.

Christian: [toasting to the foursome] To even numbers.

Christian: Beauty is symmetry, and you don't have any. First, I'll need to get rid of all this nasty cottage cheese. And here, with some laser hair removal to keep this forest under control. These mud flaps will need to be lopped off. Have you ever picked up anything heavier than a carton of Haagan-Daaz?

Christian: College BJ's are cute and nice. But aim a little higher.

Christian: De La Merde (a play on words for De La Mer) is a glorified massage parlour. And once everyone finds out its proprietors are a dyke, a whore and a housewife, those three 'businesswomen' will be stuck giving rub and tugs just to keep their client list up.

Christian: Fourteen hours in this place without a cup of coffee even Ghandi would become a narcoleptic.

Christian: I don't want you in the porn business any more. Period. And I want you to stop selling those dolls. Do you realize how many men are boning you right now? I went online. Hundreds of those things have been sold.
Kimber: Twelve hundred and thirty eight. Each sale's eight thousand dollars in my pocket, by the way.
Christian: Well, now we're getting married, you don't need the money.
Kimber: It's not about the money, Christian. This is about my career.
Christian: How would you feel if I took a mould of my cock, passed it round South Beach and called it a career?

Christian: I grew up in foster homes with nothing. Now I have a life. I have a fiancee, friends, a business. You can get through anything if you want to.
Gail: Not if you have a living reminder of your pain coming over for dinner every Friday night. I have worked hard to build walls around my family so that none of that ugliness that your father did to me would ever get in and stain us.
Christian: Is that what I am to you? A stain?
Gail: No. You're my son. But I can't be your mother.

Christian: I haven't struck out like this since there was a rumor that I had genital warts.

Christian: I used to fantasize when I was beaten and molested by my foster father that everything would be okay because my mother was an angel watching over me. She'd want to see me make something out of this life. (edit)