Kate: Spasm! Spasm! Oh, God, here it comes... lactose intolerance.
Kate: Those French. They hate us, they smoke, they have a whole relationship with dairy products I don't understand.
Kate: Why weren't you the one, Charlie? The one who turned on this big shiny Kate-light that burns so bright?
Luc: For me, bullshit is like breathing.
Kate: Do you think you could urinate with someone standing behind you?
Con-man: I think I could manage it. Are you going to be the someone?
Kate: Happy - smile. Sad - frown. Use the corresponding face for the corresponding emotion.
Kate: Of course you know him. All you bastards know each other.
Kate: The key to French waiters: If you're nice to them, they treat you like shit. Treat them like shit, they love you.
Kate: You lost your birthright in one hand of poker?
Luc: I'm an asshole. What can I tell you?
Kate: Did you know that there are four hundred and fifty-two official government cheeses in this country? Don't you think that's incredible? To come up with four hundred and fifty-two ways of classifying what is basically a bacterial process?
Luc: You would prefer one cheese? One cheeseburger to put it on and one restaurant to eat it in?
Kate: I'm saying I like the cheese. God.
Luc: Meanwhile, his lover.
Kate: Don't ever use that word again.
Luc: All right, this bastard woman.
Kate: A healthy person is someone who expresses what they're feeling inside. Express, not repress.
Luc: In that case, you must be one of the healthiest people in the world.
Kate: Do you speak English?
Concierge: Of course, Madam. This is the Georges V, not some backpacker's hovel.
Kate: Fester, fester, fester. Rot, rot, rot.
Answer: He says "enchanté" - French for "it's a pleasure to meet you".