— Don't let her fool you. She's 15. She's dangerous.
— Oh, I was the same way. Now the only thing dangerous in my life is the chance that one of these packages has anthrax in it.

— Oh! Yearbook photo girl. Want a pick?
— Thanks, but I have plenty of shots of girls who desperately need attention from boys to prop up their self-esteem.

— I like a woman who has no idea what she's doing.
— I just need a crowbar, and when I find one, you may want to run.
— And I'll run slow, so you could catch me.

— Why don't you try a car wash? I remember the summer before sophomore year...
— Something really boring happend. Awesome story, Dad.
— A car wash? I love it! Thanks, Daddy.
— Great idea, Dad. Half-naked cheerleaders, wet and soapy, standing on the street asking for money.
— No car wash.
— Daddy!

— Did you understand what I said?
— See, that's the problem. Great with the repeating, not so great with the understanding. But I'm guessing it was about flowers. Props for bringing props, by the way!

— You girls are late. Where were you?
— We were having sex with the soccer team. It took longer then expected.

— I need you to show something.
— Careful. That's borderline sexual harassment.
— Oh, borderline? Clearly I'm not working hard enough. {He takes off his sweater} Same shirts.
— Wow! Two things that match. Pretty soon you'll be reading.

— What you did was dangerous. Very, very, very dangerous.
— I was going two miles an hour, not exactly the Fast and the Furious.

— So what happens tomorrow if you don't get a flower?
— I'll just go home sick... and never come back.

Mr. Verona, what a surprise! Come in...without the sharp object.

Your booty needs to pop like that whitehead on your chin.

— I...use that data to carefully plot out our first encounter, so as to easily befriend and beguile her.
— Beguile? Big word, Shakespear.

— Boys want to put a baby in you. Are we clear, Bianca?
— Well, they'd have to do it in vitro, since I can't date until Kat does.

— You drive me.
— No way, Miss Daisy.
— I'll tell Dad you're not a virgin.
— You have one hour.

— How do I look?
— Shallow.
— Thank you!

— You never get a second chance to make a first impression.
— Please, we're talking about teenagers. They're impressed by shiny objects.
— Thus my earings.