Monica: Money is so impersonal. Cookies says someone really cares. All right, we're broke, but cookies do say that.
Phoebe: I can see that. A plate of brownies once told me a limerick.
Chandler: Phoebs, let me ask you something. Were... were these, uh, "funny" brownies?
Phoebe: Not especially. But you know what, I think they had pot in them.

Rachel: Oh, gosh. Oh, these are cookies smashed in the sports section!
Monica: Oh look, and he did my crossword puzzle.
Ross: Yeah, but not very well. Unless fourteen across--"Gershwin musical"--actually is "Bite me bite me bite me bite me."

Joey: I can't believe it's Christmas already, you know? I mean one day your eatin' turkey, the next thing you know, your lords are a-leapin' and you geese are a-layin'.
Chandler: Which is why geese are so relaxed this time of year.

Phoebe: Okay, is this really my father?
Grandma: Is it really your...? I can't... well of course it is.
Phoebe: Okay, I smell smoke. Maybe that's 'cause someone's pants are on fire!

Chandler: You know, I remember my father, all dressed up in the red suit, the big black boots, and the patent leather belt, sneakin around downstairs. He didn't want anybody to see him, but he'd be drunk so he'd stumble, crash into something and wake everybody up.
Rachel: Well, that doesn't sound like a very merry Christmas.
Chandler: Who said anything about Christmas?

Monica: You guys haven't gotten your presents yet? Tomorrow's Christmas Eve, what are you gonna do?
Chandler: Don't you have to be Claymation to say stuff like that?

Rachel: Oh by the way, Mon, I don't think the mailman liked your cookies. Here are the ornaments your mom sent.
Monica: Well, maybe the mailman liked the cookies, we just didn't give him enough.
Joey: Monica, pigeons learn faster that you.

Phoebe: Hello grandma... If that is, in fact, your real name.