Chan Tyrell: Real life is fine for people who can't do any better.

Gatsby Welles: I need a carbon monoxide to survive.

Ashleigh Enright: What are you talking about?

Gatsby Welles: We are two different creatures, right? You like the sound of crickets and I like the rattle of the taxies. You blosom in the sun and me, I come into my own under grey skies.

Terry: Time flies.

Gatsby Welles: Yes, unfortunately, it flies coach.

Terry: What's that supposed to mean?

Gatsby Welles: It's not always a comfortable trip.

Chan Tyrell: Listen, Gatsby, let me tell you, you only live once. But once is enough if you find the right person.

Gatsby Welles: One thing about New York City. You are here or you are nowhere. You cannot achieve another level of anxiety, hostility or paranoia anywhere else.

Ashleigh: -Oh my God, you're Francisco Vega!

Francisco Vega: -Is that good or bad?

Ashleigh: -My roommate thinks you're the best thing to come along since the morning-after pill.

Roland Pollard: [during his interview with a clueless college reporter] Would you like a scoop?

Ashleigh: [hesitantly] Of what?

Gatsby Welles: It's rich housewives who have the leisure to pursue esoteric culture. The out of work, discussing the out of print.

[last lines]

Gatsby: How did I know you'd be here?

Chan: You didn't think I was going to blow this moment did you?

Gatsby: What about the skin doctor?

Chan: Very handsome. Very Rich, and very clever, but I'm here.

Gatsby: For a kisser, there's a maximum of an eight?

Chan: It's fall. By spring I'll have you up to ten.

Gatsby Welles: I read. I just don't read what they give us in school. I mean, do I really care who wins between Beowulf and Grendel? No, I don't. Maybe if I had a little money on it.

Ashleigh Enright: You're a free creative spirit, like Van Gogh, Rothko or Virginia Wolf. Of course, they all committed suicide.

Roland Pollard: It's a very sweet thing to say, Ashleigh.

Ashleigh: I shouldn't imbibe so copiously. Alcohol plays havoc on my cerebral neurons .

Connie: You know, this isn't about sex.

Ted Davidoff: It's always about sex. Everything's about sex.

Connie: Alright.

Ted Davidoff: The economy's about sex.

Ashleigh: He's unusual. Quaint. That's the word I would use to describe Gatsby: quaint. He's exotic. Searching, shall we say, for his romantic dream from a vanished age.

Ted Davidoff: Well, he's not at the hotel, and he didn't show up for the press interview. So, he's wallowing in self loathing somewhere drinking Courvoisier thinking up new ways to screw up our work.