Open the pod bay doors, HAL. Then wash both sides of your hands, not neglecting between your fingers, while singing ‘Happy Birthday’ twice. Pod bay door handles are microbial hotspots.”

“Are you crying? There’s no crying! There’s no crying in baseball! Also, there’s no baseball.”

“Rhett, if you go, where shall I go? What shall I do?”
“Frankly, my dear, nothing’s open. You’re just going to stay here. Probably take up knitting or something.”

“E.T. stay home.”

“Keep your friends close—actually, keep them distant, and your enemies distant too. Stay pretty much six feet away from everyone.”

“You want answers?”
“I want the test!”
“We can’t handle the test requests!”

“Here’s looking at, but certainly not touching, you, kid.”

“I want you to get up right now and go to the window. Open it, and stick your head out, and yell, ‘I’m as scared as hell, and I’m not gonna touch my face anymore!’”

“There's no place like home quarantine.”

“Help me flatten the curve, Obi-Wan Kenobi. It’s our only hope!”

“Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherfucking germs on this motherfucking plane!”

“I see dead people.”


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