Dean: You know the Greeks didn't write obituaries. They only asked one question after a man died: "Did he have passion?".
Dean: Jonathan Trager, prominent television producer for ESPN, died last night from complications of losing his soul mate and his fiancee. He was 35 years old. Soft-spoken and obsessive, Trager never looked the part of a hopeless romantic. But, in the final days of his life, he revealed an unknown side of his psyche. This hidden quasi-Jungian persona surfaced during the Agatha Christie-like pursuit of his long reputed soul mate, a woman whom he only spent a few precious hours with. Sadly, the protracted search ended late Saturday night in complete and utter failure. Yet even in certain defeat, the courageous Trager secretly clung to the belief that life is not merely a series of meaningless accidents or coincidences. Uh-uh. But rather, its a tapestry of events that culminate in an exquisite, sublime plan. Asked about the loss of his dear friend, Dean Kansky, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author and executive editor of the New York Times, described Jonathan as a changed man in the last days of his life. "Things were clearer for him," Kansky noted. Ultimately Jonathan concluded that if we are to live life in harmony with the universe, we must all possess a powerful faith in what the ancients used to call "fatum", what we currently refer to as destiny.
Jonathan: This is the ultimate blend to drink. How'd you find this place?
Sara: I first came in because of the name: Serendipity. It's one of my favorite words.
Jonathan: It is? Why?
Sara: It's such a nice sounding word for what it means: a fortunate accident.
Sara: You don't have to understand. You just have to have faith.
Jonathan: Faith in what?
Jonathan: I hope you enjoy the gloves you bought yourself.
Sara: Oh, I'm sure I will, I usually enjoy my own thoughtfulness.
Sara: Okay. Favorite movie.
Jonathan: The correct answer is Cool Hand Luke.
Sara: I've never seen it.
Jonathan: Oh, come on. You've never seen Cool Hand Luke? Paul Newman? Oh my god. Come on! "Failure to communicate." Sadistic cop in sunglasses with no name. Reminds me of you in that way.
Sara: Um, favorite New York moment.
Jonathan: This one's climbing the charts.
Dean: [Lying on the grass with Jonathan, outside Sara's house] Maybe we're lying here because you don't wanna be standing somewhere else.
Jonathan: Maybe I am just getting cold feet.
Dean: I'm telling you right now British women do not age well. Eight years ago she was a luscious treat, you know, she probably looked like, you know, Baby Spice, now she could look like...
Jonathan: Old Spice.
Jonathan: Happy anniversary.
Sara: When did you get to be so unimaginably romantic?
Jonathan: I think that it's good luck that we return this year to the scene of the crime.
[pours a paper cup of champagne]
Bloomingdale's Salesman: Oh, I don't think so, no beverages on the premises, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave.
Jonathan: Hey, how are you doing? Don't you remember me?
Bloomingdale's Salesman: Yes I do.
Jonathan: This is her, This is the girl!
Bloomingdale's Salesman: Ms. Carbon-copy.
Bloomingdale's Salesman: I see.
Jonathan: This is the guy who helped me find you!
Sara: Oh, hi!
Bloomingdale's Salesman: If you're not going to purchase anything, please make room for paying customers.
Jonathan: We do, we want some gloves, some cashmere gloves.
[closing bell rings]
Bloomingdale's Salesman: Oh, I'm sorry, that would be the closing bell. Perhaps tomorrow...
Sara: You're not serious...
Bloomingdale's Salesman: Store hours 10 to 7 except Sundays and holidays.
Jonathan: He warms up...
Bloomingdale's Salesman: At the discretion of management or with the possible visit of dignitaries...
[Sara goes behind the counter]
Bloomingdale's Salesman: No, no, no, no, please, on the other side of the counter! You cannot come back here, this is for authorized personnel only, please stay on your side of the counter, thank you very much!
Dean: If you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid.
Bloomingdale's Salesman: So... you write for the obituary?
Bloomingdale's Salesman: Hmm. You must be very proud.
Dean: Uh-huh. I'm the one with the last word.
Bloomingdale's Salesman: Not tonight.
Dean: Yes, I am.
Bloomingdale's Salesman: Don't think so.
Bloomingdale's Salesman: Fat chance.
Dean: Still talking!
Bloomingdale's Salesman: Last line!
Dean: You're the shit!
[man next to him on plane looks over at him thinking he's talking to him]
Jonathan: [to the guy] That would be me, the shit.
[Discussing the Cool Hand Luke poster Sara saw]
Eve: Sara, it was a movie poster, it's no big deal.
Sara: It's peculiar though, right? Don't you think?
Eve: I thought you were through with all this new-age bullshit, feng-shuey and all that crap.
Sara: Eve, for someone who owns a new-age store you're incredibly earth-bound
Eve: Oh yeah, well, for a shrink-in-training, you're a little bit crazy, I'll tell you that much.
Jonathan: So are you gonna meet your boyfriend now or what?
Sara: No, I think he's out probably doing what you're doing.
Jonathan: Getting a crush on somebody else's girlfriend? No, I'm sorry, I just meant I had a really nice time. You know, maybe you should give me your phone number. Just in case.
Sara: In case of what?
Jonathan: In case of life. I just had a really great time and for all we know I wouldn't be able to find you again.
Sara: Well, if we're meant to meet again, we'll meet again. it's just not the right time now.
Jonathan: Maybe we're supposed to meet on British time and we're five hours too early.
Jonathan: Let's go do something.
Sara: Alright, what d'ya wanna do?
Jonathan: I don't care.
Sara: Alright, come on.
Eve: You see that is what happens when people get hooked on the new age life they end up sitting at home burning candles for mister right, when mister good enough for right now is waiting at the corner bar!
Eve: And if you're smart enough, you learn from your mistakes. You figure it out. You... you think. You realize that life isn't some elaborate stage play with directions for the actors. Life's a mess, Sara. It's... it's chaos personified.
Eve: You know who plays golf? Guys who are too fat to play tennis, like this guy.
Dean: I hate to break up a good thing, but we have half a dozen strippers waiting for us, we're late.
Halley: You mean exotic dancers?
Dean: No, I actually mean strippers.
[Jon referring to Halley hitting the Smoke Detector with some blunt object]
Jonathan: Don't hit it with the thing!
Dean: Contrary to popular New York myth the Times is not omniscient.
[Jonathan is trying to get Sara's information from her old Bloomingdale's account]
Jonathan: Would $20 help?
Bloomingdale's Salesman: It might if I were a health inspector.
[discussing Lars' music video]
Lars: No, no, no, cut, cut.
Lars' agent: What's the problem?
Lars: Well, the problem is you can't fight off an army of blood-thirsty Vikings with a shenai, it's illogical.
Lars' agent: No, no, see, you're lulling them into submission with the music. See, that's the whole point of the song, really, mystic surrender.
[the Viking is covering his ears in agony]
Lars: You don't think he looks like he hates the music?
Eve: Prada! Ooh! Prada! I love this stuff!
Salesman: That's 20 bucks.
Sara: Eve, that's a horrific knockoff! At least my knockoff says 'Pradi,' yours says 'Prado!'
Eve: Well, I say for a dollar I can buy a magic marker and fix it. I'll take it!
Eve: [commenting on Sara's craziness] They should make pills for this.
Dean: [commenting on Jonathan's craziness] They should make pills for this stuff.
Dean: What's wrong? You all right?
Jonathan: Her name's Sara Thomas.
[Jonathan hands Dean the book]
Jonathan: Halley gave it to me as a wedding present.
Jonathan: Forget about privacy laws. You know what privacy laws do?
Leasing Office Temp: No.
Jonathan: They protect millionaires. You know who those millionaires are?
Leasing Office Temp: Who?
Jonathan: Tell him who they are. Tell him.
Dean: Kids your age. Pimple-faced college drop outs who have made unhealthy sums of money forming internet companies that create no concrete products, provide no viable services, and still manage to generate profits for all of its lazy day-trading son-of-a bitch shareholders. Meanwhile, as a tortured member of the disenfranchised proletariat, you find some altruistic need to protect these digital plantation-owners?
Jonathan: [reacting to Dean's speech] Wow!
Jonathan: Come on.
Jonathan: [man takes black cashmire gloves] Whoa, whoa, whoa, sir, there are ours.
Customer at Bloomingdale's: Oh, your gloves? Well how come, I mean, they're just sorta hanging there. Sleeping with their little price tag on
Jonathan: We were just discussing them. This is uhh...
Customer at Bloomingdale's: Well I have news for you, you can go on discussing them long after I've paid for them.
Jonathan: Listen, just calm down, all right. Just calm down.
Customer at Bloomingdale's: [to Sara] It's 5 days before Christmas and I'm in the middle of a New York department store and he's asking me to calm down?
Jonathan: Listen these were meant to be a very special gift for someone.
Sara: Yeah, we've put quite a lot of thought into those.
Customer at Bloomingdale's: Aww, is that right? Well, who were they for?
Jonathan: [says simultaneously with Sara] My girlfriend. Her boyfriend.
Sara: [says simultaneously with Jon] My boyfriend. His girlfriend.
Customer at Bloomingdale's: One pair of gloves for two people?
Jonathan: This is hard to explain.
Jonathan: [to Sara] All right, go ahead.
Sara: Oh, uh, well he is at the present time my boyfriend...
Jonathan: ...but in 18 months...
Sara: ...after the operation
Jonathan: ...he will be...
Sara: ...she will be...
Jonathan: ...my girlfriend. Do you understand?