Monk

Disher: Okay, well, they were tourists. Probably German. Stottlemeyer: Really? Why do you say that? Disher: Because they were German.

Disher: (examining two corpses) I, uh, talked to a clerk at a hotel. They were staying downtown at the Best Western. He said that they were a pretty quiet couple. Stottlemeyer: Yeah, they look pretty quiet. Disher: Yeah, but they weren't this quiet. I mean, before last night they were just regular quiet, like, when they checked into the hotel. Stottlemeyer: Randy, I know what you mean. I was trying to be wry. Disher: Oh, sorry, my bad. Do you want to say it again?

Maria: I'm new here. Adrian: Really? I never would have guessed that. Maria: Are you patronizing me? Adrian: No, I'm insulting you.

Monk: (in an unsanitary hot dog factory) I was buried alive once. Natalie: Yeah, I remember. Monk: I was in a box. I was underground for three hours. And that box is now the second-most frightening place I've ever been.

Disher: (eating a hot dog) Boy, that's good. What is that, beef or pork? Al the Vendor: We use "meat." Natalie: Why do you say it like that? Gionopolis: Uh, we are required by law to put it in quotes.

(speaking about a fellow council member) Harold: As you all know, we lost a dear friend this week. Eileen Hill's body was discovered earlier this morning. Let us pray that the San Francisco police catch her killer and bring him or her to justice. Or if they don't catch him, let us pray that Eileen's murder was the work of a random nut job, or frustrated ex-boyfriend, and not some kind of masked vigilante who, for some reason, has a personal vendetta against the city council, and is determined to slaughter us, one member at a time, picking us off when we least expect it, using a different, yet somehow appropriate method for each of his grisly killings! Amen.