Crowley: Making merry, have we?
Bobby Singer: Bite me.
Crowley: If that's your thing.
Agent Adams: I just want to take a look around.
Bobby Singer: You got a warrant, sonny?
Agent Adams: Well, do I need one, sir?
Sheriff Jody Mills: Okay, fellas, put the rulers away, zip up.
Bobby Singer: Why'd you send him outside?
Sheriff Jody Mills: Because I didn't think you'd want him in here.
Bobby Singer: I don't. I've got a body in the basement.
Sheriff Jody Mills: My point.
Bobby Singer: Yeah, but I've got another body buried in the yard.
Sheriff Jody Mills: Damn it!
Rufus Turner: You're still alive, huh?
Bobby Singer: Don't act so surprised.
Rufus Turner: How about Godzilla?
Bobby Singer: Put her down.
Rufus Turner: So you just happened to have a bamboo dagger blessed by a Shinto priest laying around?
Bobby Singer: Wood chipper.
Rufus Turner: Oh. Okey-dokey, wood chipper. That pretty much trumps... everything.
Bobby Singer: Sam, Dean, I love you like my own. I do. But sometimes... sometimes you two are the whiniest, most self-absorbed sons of bitches I ever met. I'm selfish? Me? I do everything for you. Everything! You need some lore scrounged up, you need your asses pulled out of the fire, you need someone to bitch to about each other. You call me, and I come through. Every damn time! And what do I get for it? Jack with a side of squat!
Bobby Singer: Do I sound like I'm done? Now look, I know you got issues. God knows, I know. But I got a news flash for you. You ain't the center of the universe! Now it may have slipped your minds that Crowley owns my soul, and the meter is running. And I'll be damned if I'm going to sit around and be damned. So how about you two sack up and help me for once?
Crowley: I thought when I got the corner office, it was all going to be rainbows and two-headed puppies. But if I'm being honest, it's been hell.
Bobby Singer: I thought that was the point.
Crowley: You know what the problem with demons is?
Bobby Singer: They're demons?
Crowley: Exactly. Evil, lying prats, the whole lot of them. They're stupid. You try to show them a new way, a better way, and what do you get? Bugger all! You know, there's days that I think Lucifer's whole "spike anything with black eyes" plan wasn't half bad. Hpph. Feels good to get it off my chest. We should make this a thing.
Bobby Singer: Do I look like Dr. Phil to you?
Crowley: A little.
Crowley: So on with it.
Bobby Singer: I want...
Crowley: Uh, save me the recap. In fact, I'll do the shorthand for you. (impersonating Bobby) "I want my soul back, idjit!" Afraid not. (impersonating Bobby) "But I'm surly and I got a beard. Gimme." Blah blah blah. Homespun cornpone insult. Witty retort from yours truly. The bottom line is, you get bupkis. Are we done?
Bobby Singer: Now, you may be king of the dirtbags here, but in life, you were nothing but a two-bit tailor who sold his soul in exchange for an extra three inches below the belt.
Crowley: Just trying to hit double digits.
Dean: Did you really use to wear a skirt?
Crowley: A kilt. I had very athletic calves.
Crowley: I believe those are mine.
Dean: You know, now that I think about it, maybe I'll just napalm your ass anyhow.
Sam: Dean. He's a dick, but a deal's a deal.
Crowley: I don't need you to fight my battles for me, moose. Get bent.