Emile: W-w-wait. You read?
Remy: Well, not excessively.
Emile: Oh, man. Does dad know?
Remy: You could fill a book - a lot of books - with things Dad doesn't know. And they have. Which is why I read. Which is also our secret.
Emile: I don't like secrets. All this cooking and-and reading and TV-watching, while we read and cook. It's like you're involving me in crime and I let you. Why do I let you?
Skinner: Toasting your success, eh, Linguini? Good for you.
Linguini: Oh, I just took it to be polite. I don't really drink, you know.
Skinner: Of course you don't. I wouldn't either if I was drinking that. But you would have to be an idiot of elephantine proportions not to appreciate this '61 Château Latour, and you, Monsieur Linguini, are no idiot. Let us toast your non-idiocy!
Colette: What are you doing?
Linguini: Uh... Vegetables. I'm cooking the... Vegetables?
Colette: No! You waste energy and time! You think cooking is a cute job, eh? Like Mommy in the kitchen? Well, Mommy never had to face the dinner rush while the orders come flooding in, and every dish is different and none are simple, and all different cooking time, but must arrive at the customer's table at exactly the same time, hot and perfect! Every second counts and you CANNOT be MOMMY!
Skinner: The soup. Where is the soup? Out of my way. Move it, garbage boy! You are COOKING? HOW DARE YOU COOK in my kitchen! Where do you get the gall to even attempt something so monumentally idiotic? I should have you drawn and quartered! I'll do it! I think the law is on my side! Larousse, draw and quarter this man - after you put him in the duck press to squeeze the fat out of his head!