Chalkboard: No one cares what my definition of "is" is
Couch: The family sits; a safety bar lowers over their laps and the couch zooms around the room like a roller coaster car.
Bart: Uh, so Dad, regarding that form, why not just make up a middle name?
Lisa: You might as well. You already made up a phony film credit.
Homer: No! Homer Simpson does not lie twice on the same form. He never has, and he never will.
Marge: You lied dozens of times on our mortgage application.
Homer: Yeah, but they were all part of a single ball of lies. The point is, I'm a grown man, and I deserve a middle name.
Grampa: Hmm. I know where we might find your missing moniker. It's a bit of a drive, but on the way, we can have a nice father-son chat.
Homer: Great! I'll go shoot myself for bringing this up.
Marge: You know, I really don't appreciate being called a narc. And that poncho is filthy! Let me dry-clean it for you.
Homer: Why do you have to turn everything into one big plastic hassle? Marge, you've got too many hang-ups. Like the whole shaving trip. Come on, I want to see those legs all furry and gross!
Marge: That ain't gonna happen, bub.
Homer: Well, at least lose the bra. Free the Springfield Two, Marge! Free the Springfield Two!
Marge: Doctor, will he be all right?
Dr. Hibbert: Yes, he was lucky. If that had been a gladiola, he'd be dead right now.
Bart: Why don't you just pull it out?
Dr. Hibbert: (Chuckles) I'm a doctor, not a gardener!
Homer: Can't you just prune some of the leaves so I can watch TV?
Dr. Hibbert: What did I just say?
Homer: Hi, Marge! We're freaking out squares!
Marge: Oh, Lord.
Homer: What's in your brand-new bag, momma?
Marge: Oh, it's that pair of Dockers you wanted. Forty-eight waist with the balloon seat, right?
(Seth and Munchie laugh.)
Homer: Marge, not in front of the hippies.