Monica And Rachel Quotes

Hell,' Shane spit in disgust. 'I can't hit a girl. Here, Claire. You hit her.' He tossed her the bat.

Don't diss me, Danvers. I'm warning you.' 'I'm not dissing you,' Claire sighed. 'I'm ignoring you. There's a difference. Dissing you implies I think you're actually important.

I like the sound of that, crashing Monica's party," he glanced at Michael, then quickly away. "What about you? That break some kind of vampire rules or something?" "Blow me Shane." "Boys," Eve said primly. "Language. Minor at the table." "Well," Shane said, "I wasn't actually planning to do it." Claire rolled her eyes. "Not like it's the first time I've heard it. Or said it." "You shouldnt say it," Michael said, all seriousness. "No, I mean it. Girls should say 'eat me' not 'blow me'. Wouldn't recommend 'bite me' though. Not around here.

Monica's eyes were fierce and fiery, but she didn't move, and after a second she turned and ran up the steps to the second floor, where her formally dressed friends were huddled like the cast of Survivor: Abercrombie & Fitch Island.

Besides," Shane said "I want to see Monica's face when she catches sight of the two of you. Kodak moment.

Kid,” Richard said wearily, “I am not in the mood. I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, my sister’s crazy–” “Hey!” Monica protested. “–and you’re not my high school crush–” “He is not my high school crush, Richard!” “The point it, I couldn’t give a crap about you, your friends, or your problems, because for me this isn’t personal. Monica will kill you because she’s nuts. I’ll kill you because you make me kill you. Are we straight?” “Well,” Shane said, “That’s kind of a personal question.

You’re kind of a psycho. I get that.” “I might be,” Monica agreed, and gave her a slow, strange smile. “You’re one smart little freak. Now run away, smart little freak, before I change my mind and stick you in one of these old suitcases for some architect to find a hundred years from now.” Claire blinked. “Archaeologist.” Monica’s eyes turned winter cold. “Oh, you’d better start running away now.

The rule of the Morrell family was over, and Richard owned a used-car lot and Monica worked at a nail salon, until one day she got run over by a bus. Very sad.

And somewhere in heaven, Versace sheds a single, perfect tear.

Keys," she repeated, and slowly stepped back. "What do you mean, keys?" "Car keys. As in, give them up. Now." Shane had that look -- hard, and no bullshit. "We don't have time for your drama, Monica. Nobody does.

Oh, try not to sound so much like Mom—you don’t have the ovaries" (Monica Morrell - Last Breath)

This won't stop her from getting elected," Shane said. "Stupider people get elected all the time. It's America. We love the sleazy. And the crazy." "I would like to think better of us," Claire said, "but yeah. You're right.

Her hands brushed Shane's, and he let go of the cards and took hold. And then somehow she was in his lap, and he was kissing her. Hadn't meant to do that but...well. She couldn't exactly be sorry about it, because he tasted amazing, and his lips were so soft and his hands were so strong... He leaned back, eyes half shut, and he was smiling. Shane didn't smile all that much, and it always left her breathless and tingling. There was a secrecy about it like he only ever smiled at her, and it just felt... perfect. 'Claire, you're being careful right?' He smoothed hair back from her face. 'Seriously. You'd tell me if you got into trouble?' 'No trouble,' She lied, thinking about Monica's not-so veiled threats, and that glimpse of Shane's dad seated across from Oliver in the coffee shop.'No trouble at all.' 'Good.' He kissed her again, then moved down her jawline to her neck, and, wow neck nibbles took her breath away. She closed her eyes and buried her fingers in his warm hair, trying to tell him through every touch how much she liked this, like him, loved... Her eyes came open, fast. She did not just think about that. Shane’s warm hands moved up her sides, thumbs grazing the sides of her breasts again, and he traced his fingers across the thin skin of her collarbone...down to where the neck of her T-shirt stopped him. Teasing. Pulling it down an inch, then two. And then, maddeningly, he let go and leaned back, lips damp. He licked them, watching her, and then gave her that slow crazy, sexy smile again. 'Go to bed' he said. 'Before I decide to come with.

(eve)"what?" (claire)"monica got him to ask me. Told them to do this." (eve)"bitch! okay,i take it all back. She needs a good blowtorching." "no",Claire said faintly."Nobody deservs that. Nobody." (eve) "Great.Saint Claire,the patron saint of the kick-me sign.

At the very leadt, we can grab Monica and hustle her skanky ass back to her dad wile you brave, strong menfolk hold off the bad guys. Right?

Eve: Shut up, we have zero time for you and your bullshit dramatics Monica: Or what, you'll bleed on me, Emo Princess of Freakdomonia? Claire: Fine. You come with us. If you get in my way, I'll kill you.

Monica looked even more confused. Nobody ever turned down being part of the queenbee's inner circle. After that second of vulnerability, though, her face hardened. "Don't diss me,Danvers. I'm warning you." "I'm not dissing you." Claire sighed. "I'm ignoring you. There's a difference. Dissing you implies I think you're actually important.

Shane’s dad stopped the van,” Claire said. “He took Monica as a hostage.” For a second, neither one of them moved, and then Eve whooped and held up her hand for a high five. Claire just stared at her, and Eve compensated by clapping both hands over her head. “Yesssss!” she said, and did a totally geeky victory dance. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer psycho!” “Hey!” Claire yelled, and Eve froze in midcelebration. It was stupid, but Claire was angry; she knew Eve was right, knew she had no reason at all to think Monica was ever going to be anything but a gigantic pain in the ass, but… “Shane’s dad’s going to burn her if they go through with the execution. He has a blowtorch.” The glee dropped out of Eve’s expression. “Oh,” she said. “Well…still. Not like she didn’t ask for it. Karma’s a bitch, and so am I.

I'm still alive. And I'm still fabulous.

Claire sighed. She supposed people always did like that sort of girl, and always would. And secretly? She envied Monica's confidence. Maybe just a little, traitorous bit.

Well...I would make an awesome mayor. I'm very photogenic.

Rachel waved her hand in dismissal. “Yeah, well, I assume that he was upset, and she was there, he fell, and she caught him – right between her thighs.

Oh, come on. A vamp marrying a human gets the fanged ones all upset, and Eve made herself look like the ultimate fang-anger to all the humans by putting a ring on one, so what did you expect exactly? Flowers and parades? This is Texas. We're still figuring out how to spell tolerance.

If we’re being completely honest, I don’t even think you should have to be “a couple” in the classical sense to get married. I want people to be able to marry as many of their platonic friends as they want. If I’m Phoebe (and I am), why shouldn’t I be able to marry both Monica and Rachel? I mean we all (basically) live together, we’re functionally co-dependent, and we all find Ross obnoxious. Sounds like marriage material to me . . .

That's incredible...I don't know--okay, well, you know, nobody's probably voting for me. I mean, I'm not Richard. I haven't gone out of my way to be responsible or anything.

What about me?" Monica whined. "Do you really want to know?" Shane gave her a glare that should have scorched her hair off. "Be grateful I'm not leaving you as an after-dinner mint on his pillow." Myrnin leaned close to Claire's ear and said, "I think I like your young man." When she reacted in pure confusion, he held up his hands, smiling. "Not in that way, my dear. He just seems quite trustworthy.

So I’m sitting at my super-cool white PBteen vanity, which I use as a desk, trying to figure out where to begin my story. (Nope, that’s not true. I’m actually lying on my bed in my sweatpants and my Ross and Rachel and Chandler and Monica and Phoebe and Joey t-shirt, eating raw Toll House cookie dough and stressing about my day.)

All of the day’s planned tasks are canceled. Bob stays inside Hot Topic for the rest of the day. Left to their own devices, the group huddles together in the communal Old Navy on the first floor. At first, I think they’re holding a memorial service, but then I hear the TV playing. They’re watching DVDs of Friends on a giant, monolithic plasma screen. A citywide blackout forces Monica, Ross, Rachel, Phoebe, and Joey to hang out together. They light candles and talk about the weirdest places they’ve had sex. Phoebe sings a song. I hate Friends but I’ve seen most of the episodes.

You, Monica said, leaning over her, really pissed me off, fish. I don't forget things like that. Neither does my boyfriend. Brandon? Claire wheezed. Jeez, at least get one with a pulse!

Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.” – Oscar Wilde

If we were on Friends, who do you think 'd be?" I wonder aloud. "I think you'd be Phoebe because you're quirky and creative," Chloe tells me. "Really? I think I'd be Monica because I'm crazy and neurotic," I say. "Jo, who do you think I am? Phoebe or Monica?" "Neither," Joni answers. "You're Ross." "What?!" Call me dramatic, but I've never been more offended in my life. "How am I Ross?" "Because you've had the same pathetic crush on the same blond ditz your entire life. And you like dinosaurs." "Everyone likes dinosaurs," I argue. Then I realize what else she's insinuating. "Wait a minute. Are you saying that Sam is Rachel?" Joni shrugs. "If the designer shoe fits." Oh my God.

If we were on Friends, who do you think I'd be?" I wonder aloud. "I think you'd be Phoebe because you're quirky and creative," Chloe tells me. "Really? I think I'd be Monica because I'm crazy and neurotic," I say. "Jo, who do you think I am? Phoebe or Monica?" "Neither," Joni answers. "You're Ross." "What?!" Call me dramatic, but I've never been more offended in my life. "How am I Ross?" "Because you've had the same pathetic crush on the same blond ditz your entire life. And you like dinosaurs." "Everyone likes dinosaurs," I argue. Then I realize what else she's insinuating. "Wait a minute. Are you saying that Sam is Rachel?" Joni shrugs. "If the designer shoe fits." Oh my God.

Kauffman y Crane han afirmado en diversas entrevistas tras finalizar la serie que Rachel era judía. De hecho, Kauffman ha llegado a decir que era la única judía «auténtica» del grupo según la Halajá, la ley judía, dado que su madre era hebrea. En cuanto a Ross y Monica, solo su padre, Jack (Elliott Gould) era judío, aunque está claro —según Kauffman— que ambos habían sido educados en la religión hebrea. Así pues, es evidente que los guionistas tenían presente la adscripción religiosa de los personajes, a pesar de que Monica buscara un párroco cristiano para casarse.

Two more of the gamers Claire had gifted with the invitation stumbled by; one grabbed Claire's arm and planted a sloppy wet kiss on her cheek. "We passed out copies," he said, and giggled. "Hope that was okay. Great party!" Shane sighed and moved him off with one hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Naked Vulcan chick in the next room. Better hurry." The gamers sobered up fast, and moved on. Monica's glossy, perfect lips were open, her eyes wide. "You?" she said. "You did this? These idiots made flyers! They put them all over campus! This was supposed to be the best people!" "Don't worry," Eve said sweetly. "We're here." She smiled, which in that lipstick was Wicked-Witch-of-the-West evil. "Air kiss!" She mwahed the air somewhere near Monica's cheek. "Lovely party. Shame about the furniture. Ta!" She sashayed on, Michael on her arm, as if she was the Queen of Everything, never mind Morganville. Claire got out her camera and got a picture of the murderous fury on Monica's face as she watched her go. "You treacherous little bitch!" Monica snarled. Claire lowered the phone and met her eyes for a long second. She wasn't scared, not anymore. "You got your friends to roofie me and told them I wanted it rough. All I did was recycle your invitation. Let's call it even." "Let's call it not!" Shane leaned forward, dropped his voice so that Monica had to work to hear it, and said, "Calm down. You get blotchy when you're angry. And if you call my girlfriend a bitch one more time, I won't be so nice about it.

It’s a great place, baby. A great neighbourhood. It’s got a huge garden,” he says, nodding to the right. “There’s a two-bed guesthouse in the garden, which is where Stuart will live.” “Stuart’s not going to live with us anymore?” I pout. “Well, we talked, baby, and we decided it was time he move out and get his own place. He’s all grown up, ready to face the world. We have to let him go sometime. We can’t keep him forever.” Jake gives me a grave look, clearly taking the piss. “You’re an idiot.” “Takes one to know one.” “That it does.” I smile warmly. He rubs his nose against mine, Eskimo-style. “I just thought it would be good to have our privacy, and Stuart gets his too. Also, I no longer have to run the risk of catching him making out with a dude.” “You love it really.” “What? Catching Stuart making out with a guy?” Pressing my lips together, suppressing a smile, I nod. “Sweetheart, nothing could kill my hard-on quicker, believe me. I like the person I’m with to be soft and warm.” He runs his fingertips down my bare arm. “I want her made to fit around me.” “Like me?” I scratch my fingernails over the denim covering his pert behind. “Exactly like you.” Jake bends his head down to mine and kisses me softly. “Will you miss him?” “Are we still talking about Stuart?” “I’m just worried he’ll think my being here is pushing him out.” “Sweetheart, he works for me, and it’s not like he’s going far.” “I know he works for you, but he’s your friend too. You guys have lived together for such a long time. You’re like Joey and Chandler. Except you’d probably have been Joey, and Chandler was never gay. Oh God, would that make me Monica or Rachel?” “What the fuck are you talking about?” He laughs. “Friends.” “I’m gonna have to watch this show, aren’t I, just so I can figure out what the fuck you’re talking about half the time.” “Yes, Pervy Perverson, you are. Honestly, I have no clue how you haven’t. I’ll buy the first season on Blu-ray and we can watch it together.” “Can’t wait.” “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Wethers

I'll Be There For You These words are etched on our hearts. but they're so much more than just words, they're a complete emotion. But it's all just an illusion, a utopia, for which we long. we trade in drinking coffee on a couch, with drinking at a bar. we utter more words to Alexa and Siri, than to people face to face. we can never have six people in one room without anyone looking at their phones. we trade in memories with pictures. we actively look for reasons to not be around people. a Chandler is considered too mean and sarcastic, Ross has too much baggage, who has the energy to deal with that. Phoebe is too quirky to handle. Rachel, that spoilt and entitled bitch. no way. Joey is the fuck boy that will cause you nothing but pain, and Monica with her OCD, that's way too high maintenance. no, we don't say these things when we watch the show, we say these about people around us who bear similar characteristics. we adore these characters, we envy their friendship, their bond, their love. we long for nothing else, yet when confronted with them in real life, we belittle, avoid, cut-off, ignore. we don't want to disturb the utopia, are terrified of bursting the bubble, because if we start recognizing the flaws in our fantasies, we'll be forced to recognize our own. we love to live an à la carte life, wherein we pick and choose the qualities and personalities of a person that we wish to see, and the ones that may simply be brushed away. Generation after generation, will watch that show and call it their utopia, and each will give up hope of ever attaining that, alas! It was a different time! what we long for doesn't require a time machine to achieve, it doesn't need for mobile phones to not exist, or for less bars to exist, or to live away from your parents. it's only as complicated as we try to make it, when it can be as simple as, "I'll be there for you, 'cause you're there for me too

I'll Be There For You" These words are etched on our hearts. but they're so much more than just words, they're a complete emotion. But it's all just an illusion, a utopia, for which we long. we trade in drinking coffee on a couch, with drinking at a bar. we utter more words to Alexa and Siri, than to people face to face. we can never have six people in one room without anyone looking at their phones. we trade in memories with pictures. we actively look for reasons to not be around people. a Chandler is considered too mean and sarcastic, Ross has too much baggage, who has the energy to deal with that. Phoebe is too quirky to handle. Rachel, that spoilt and entitled bitch. no way. Joey is the fuck boy that will cause you nothing but pain, and Monica with her OCD, that's way too high maintenance. no, we don't say these things when we watch the show, we say these about people around us who bear similar characteristics. we adore these characters, we envy their friendship, their bond, their love. we long for nothing else, yet when confronted with them in real life, we belittle, avoid, cut-off, ignore. we don't want to disturb the utopia, are terrified of bursting the bubble, because if we start recognizing the flaws in our fantasies, we'll be forced to recognize our own. we love to live an à la carte life, wherein we pick and choose the qualities and personalities of a person that we wish to see, and the ones that may simply be brushed away. Generation after generation, will watch that show and call it their utopia, and each will give up hope of ever attaining that, alas! It was a different time! what we long for doesn't require a time machine to achieve, it doesn't need for mobile phones to not exist, or for less bars to exist, or to live away from your parents. it's only as complicated as we try to make it, when it can be as simple as, "I'll be there for you, 'cause you're there for me too

I'll Be There For You These words are etched on our hearts. but they're so much more than just words, they're a complete emotion. But it's all just an illusion, a utopia, for which we long. we trade in drinking coffee on a couch, with drinking at a bar. we utter more words to Alexa and Siri, than to people face to face. we can never have six people in one room without anyone looking at their phones. we trade in memories with pictures. we actively look for reasons to not be around people. a Chandler is considered too mean and sarcastic, Ross has too much baggage, who has the energy to deal with that. Phoebe is too quirky to handle. Rachel, that spoilt and entitled bitch. no way. Joey is the fuck boy that will cause you nothing but pain, and Monica with her OCD, that's way too high maintenance. no, we don't say these things when we watch the show, we say these about people around us who bear similar characteristics. we adore these characters, we envy their friendship, their bond, their love. we long for nothing else, yet when confronted with them in real life, we belittle, avoid, cut-off, ignore. we don't want to disturb the utopia, are terrified of bursting the bubble, because if we start recognizing the flaws in our fantasies, we'll be forced to recognize our own. we love to live an à la carte life, wherein we pick and choose the qualities and personalities of a person that we wish to see, and the ones that may simply be brushed away. Generation after generation, will watch that show and call it their utopia, and each will give up hope of ever attaining that, alas! It was a different time! what we long for doesn't require a time machine to achieve, it doesn't need for mobile phones to not exist, or for less bars to exist, or to live away from your parents. it's only as complicated as we try to make it, when it can be as simple as, I'll be there for you, 'cause you're there for me too

I need something to distract me so I switch it on and flick through the channels until I find some old reruns of Friends. My mom loved this show, and we used to watch it with her all the time. It’s like chicken soup TV and despite my circumstances, I smile as Chandler and Joey ride into Monica and Rachel’s apartment on that hideous white dog.