Dr. Stephen Connor: Run down what we have, Dr. McCabe.
Dr. Miles McCabe: For whose benefit?
Frank Powell: Yours.
Eva Rossi: No high-end resort is going to set aside space for a clinic when they can book a room for $600 a night.
Stephen: I need a list of all the guests - who's sick, who's not, what rooms they're in, what they've been eating and drinking. I need a record of every illness documented here in the last two years, as well as every suspected case of TB on the island.
Jenny: My God, that's going to take time.
Stephen: You strike me as competent.
Stephen: Remember, there's enough fax machines and cell phones to create a panic. Let's keep this think quiet, okay?
Frank: Got it.
Eva: So, how are things going with that hockey player?
Natalie: Excuse me?
Eva: That guy, Jeremy...Joe...
Natalie: Jordan. It's over...Why do you ask?
Eva: You don't see that many women who are beautiful and brilliant. I would think men would be all over you.
Miles: Quarantine? Don't you think that's a little drastic? This thing isn't airborne.
Stephen: The point is, we know the source is here. If the patients disperse to the mainland and the infection spreads, we won't know where to look.
Kazerian: I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be uncooperative, it's just that this has been a very trying two weeks for me. First, Elli passes away and now, the NIH thinks I have something in my gallery that's killing people.
Miles: Hey, Kim, you are not going to die. Dr. Connor is the best. I know you don't know him, but he's a brilliant man.
Gary: The healthy people are going home. The sick people are going to the hospital. As you said, it's my call.
Stephen: Your arrogrance is impressive.
Gary: Right back at ya, Doctor.
Frank: Cow feces in art. Who would've thought.
Miles: My dad always said modern art was crap.
Natalie: You're not going to give me one of your "we may have won the battle, but not the war" speeches, are you?
Stephen: I'm too tired.
Natalie: Good, because I think we did a damn good job and I don't want to hear it.