This Is Where I Leave You

& Judd: I don’t understand the shiva. Mom’s not even Jewish, and Dad was an atheist.
    Wendy: A Jewish atheist. And this is what he wanted.

& Rabbi Grodner: They’re shiva chairs. You sit low to the ground as a sign of mourning. That’s why they’re like that.
    Judd: Don’t some people sit shiva for three days?
    Wendy: I’ve seen that. That’s a thing.
    Rabbi Grodner: It’s not a thing.
    Judd: Maybe that could be our thing.
    Rabbi Grodner: It can’t be.
    Wendy: They do it in California. We could pioneer that.
    Rabbi Grodner: We’re not gonna pioneer it. Nobody here’s gonna pioneer it. The word «shiva» is Hebrew for «seven.» Seven days, no work, no travel. Your ass is in those seats. Those are the rules.
    Judd: I’d love to find the word for «three.»

& Judd: It’s hard to see people from your past... when your present is so cataclysmically screwed up, you know?

& Wendy: And that is the glory of love. We want the ones we can’t have, and we crap all over the ones that we can. Rinse and repeat.

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& Hillary: You cannot leave this house. We’re sitting shiva.
    Wendy: Mom, you’re sitting in the same spot we put our Christmas tree.

& Penny: Cut yourself some slack, Judd. Anything can happen. Anything happens all the time.

& Judd: You ever think before you speak?
    Phillip: No, that would take all the fun out of it.

& Judd: How are you so okay?
    Hillary: I think with every passing day... I remember your father less as a sick, frail patient... and more as that strong, vibrant man I was married to all those years... Also, I’m popping Xanax like Tic Tacs.

& Wendy: Love causes cancer. Like everything else. But it’s still love. It has its moments.

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