[talking about the experiment] I did not come to medical school to murder my class mates no matter how deranged they might be.
[dictating a diary entry into his tape recorder] Halloween morning. Rotting pumpkins. Burning leaves. Black cats mating like rats in the alley. It was as if . . . it were as if we felt no fear, as if we were already dead and had nothing to lose by dying. Or perhaps it was because we had lived life so well, and loved life so much, that we fancied ourselves immortal, overwhelming the powers that be with the force of our passion for science. [long pause] Or maybe we were just fucked in the head.
Good thing I didn't flatline. My 350-pound babysitter would be chasing me for the half-eaten pastrami sandwich I stole from her.
David Labraccio: [about his death experience] It's like being paranoid without the fear. Like being watched.
David Labraccio: Die to be a hero someday if you want to, but don't die to be a celebrity.
Rachel: [as she's about to "flatline" in their experiment] See you soon.
Winnie Hicks: [the little girl in his mind to David Labraccio] Hey, fellatio! Got a match? Well, I do. Your face and my ass. Your breath's made of buffalo fart. You don't know jack SHIT! BUTT-WAD, NEEDLE-DICK, COCK-BITE, JACK-OFF, LIMP-WRIST, CORN-HOLE, BANANA-BREATH, SHIT-BIRD, BIRD-TURD, TURD-FACE, KISS-ASS, BROWN-NOSE, MACHO-WIMP, LIMP-DICK, FART-FACE, TURD-MERCHANT! What's the matter? Gonna cry? Cry-baby Davie. Cry Cry Cry! SHIT-FACED, RAT-TURD, ASS-LICKING, SON-OF-A-BITCH.
Joe Hurley: This is not the kind of shit I want on my transcript.
Joe Hurley: Excuse me, I don't want to ruin anybody's evening, but are we in the room with a dead man?
David Labraccio: [screaming at a religious stained-glass portrait] I'm sorry.. we trespassed on your… fucking territory. God! I'm sorry!