Blair: Do you like me?
Chuck: defined like
Chuck:... How do you think I feel? I haven't slept. I feel sick, like there's something in my stomach. Fluttering.
Blair: Butterflies?.
Blair: Chuck, you know I adore all God's creatures and the metaphors they inspire but those butterflies have got to be murdered.

Blair: Gustas de mí?
Chuck: Definí gustar.
Chuck: ... Cómo crees que me siento? No dormí. Me siento enfermo, hay algo en mi estomago, flotando
Blair: Mariposas?
Blair: Chuck, vos sabés que adoro a todas las criaturas de Dios y la metamorfosis que inspiran. Pero esas mariposas, tienen que morir.