Castiel: You said "no" to Michael. I owe you an apology.
Dean: Cass. I-It's okay.
Castiel: You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man that I believed you to be.
Dean: Thank you. I appreciate that.
Castiel: You're welcome.

Dean: That's the beauty about improv, Sammy. You never know what's gonna come out of your mouth.

Pestilence: Disease gets a bad rap, don't you think? For being filthy. Chaotic. Uh, but really, t-that just describes people who get sick. Disease itself… very... pure. Single-minded. Bacterium have one purpose--divide and conquer. That's why, in the end... it always wins. So, you've got to wonder why God pours all of his love into something so messy... and weak. It's ridiculous. All I can do is show him he's wrong, one epidemic at a time.

Dean: So please tell us you have actual good news.
Bobby Singer: Chicago's about to be wiped off the map. storm of the millennium. Sets off a daisy chain of natural disasters. Three million people are gonna die.
Dean: Huh.
Castiel: I don't understand your definition of good news.

Dean: Well, I got to ask. How old are you?
Death: As old as God. Maybe older. Neither of us can remember anymore. Life, death, chicken, egg. Regardless--at the end, I'll reap him, too.
Dean: God? You'll reap God?
Death: Oh, yes. God will die, too, Dean.