Lucille: Well, having a child try to embarrass you is part of parenting, sweetheart. Mine's chained to a bench. So, in that sense, he's an overachiever.

George Sr.: Jitters can be bad. Remember when I had them the night before we went to trial for that tax evasion in '88?
Lucille: Oh, yeah. We had to hide all that Boy Fight money.
George Sr.: Yeah. You gave me that "in case you're going away" present. That got the jitters out of me. What do you think about doing that with Dusty?
Lucille: How can you ask me that?
George Sr.: I just know how you can be. There was a time right after Gob was born when you grew cold and contemptuous of everyone.
Lucille: You remember that?
George Sr.: Well, only because it's still going on.
Lucille: Maybe I've pulled away from him. In fact, most nights he goes back home to sleep in his own bed. Which is fine. I- I want his head in his work.
George Sr.: Huh. That doesn't necessarily mean yours has to take the night off. Hey, I hate the idea, but we gotta do something to get his confidence in that courtroom, and I am willing to shut my eyes and let it happen.
Lucille: Now you know how I felt all those years, George.

Michael: Now, Mom, what in the hell was that? I thought this was Dustin Radler, the fierce trial attorney, the only one who's ever beaten Lottie.
Lucille: Well, as it turns out, the Dustin Radler I've been with is his son.
Michael: Oh, my God, he's a motherboy. There were- There were no hints before today?
Lucille: Just that I only ever seem to create or attract them.

Michael: You got us into this mess. What are you gonna do?
Lucille: All right. I made an awful choice, but did I give you a hard time when you gave all our life rights to Imagine Films to make some TV show? That was somewhat amiss of you.
Michael: Yes, you did. As it turns out, nothing came of that project, which I predicted. Just like I predicted your bet on the DA calling a mistrial wasn't exactly beating the odds. She offered him gum.
Lucille: Okay, I hired a completely incompetent lawyer and put my son's life in the hands of a moron, and I know what you want me to say, Michael. Okay, I'll say it... My bad! [sighs]
Michael: Wow. I don't think that I have heard you apologize since, um, uh, since people used to use that phrase to apologize.

Michael: The district attorney has provided some very provocative information about the defendant. She has claimed that he was responsible, at a very young age, for pushing our grandmother, Mimi, down the stairs. Thus, that he killed before.
Lucille: What are you doing, Michael? Trying to prove the prosecution's theories? Stop showing off and get to the point.
Michael: What if Buster did not push Mimi down the stairs?
Lucille: What are you talking about?
Michael: The question is, do you recall the night in 1982 when Mimi died?
Lucille: Where are you going with this, Michael?
Michael: I just want the truth.
Lucille: Oh, God, are you going for one of your Few Good Men moments?

Michael: Surely you remember the night your mother died.
Lucille: Of course I do. Terrible, what happened.
Michael: Tell me, what did happen? Because the prosecution would have us believe that Buster Bluth, your son, my brother, was responsible for that death.
Lucille: Well, he did confess to it.
Michael: So it seems that even Buster believes the story that happened in 1982.
Lucille: It was an accident. He was very young. He didn't understand the consequences.
Michael: So you are stating, as a fact, that Buster pushed your mother down the stairs?
Lucille: Buster says Buster pushed my mother.
Michael: And I think you pushed your mother. I think that Mimi might not have been the only person that took a fall that night. I think you let Buster take a fall for you.
Lucille: Oh, I see. So if I pushed my mother down the stairs, maybe I did this, too?
Michael: Maybe you did.
Lucille: I- I thought this was about my mother.
Michael: It's about family, all of it.
Lucille: Stay on topic, Michael.
Michael: Okay, fine, let's do that. Where were you the night that Lucille Austero disappeared?
Lucille: I don't know where I was. I don't know who was where! Where were you?

Lucille: What the hell was that? You had me on the stand. You were making me look like a murderer!
Michael: I'm sorry, Mom. I found the tapes where you were making Buster think he pushed Mimi down the stairs.
Lucille: Exactly. Those are the tapes I wanted you to find. I couldn't have laid it out any more clearly for you. All you had to do was get me on the stand and make me look like a liar. How do you screw that up?
Michael: Screw that up? What, you wanted me to accuse you of pushing Mimi down the stairs?
Lucille: Well, we couldn't have the jury thinking Buster did it, because they'd be totally convinced he did the same thing to Lucille 2, and I couldn't exactly accuse myself of killing Mimi. I would just look like a loving mother lying to protect her son. But I didn't push Mimi down the stairs. Buster did.
Michael: Mom, you're on tape admitting that you did it and telling Buster to confess to being a murderer.
Lucille: He thought he was saying that to save his mother. We were implanting a memory. We didn't want him growing up thinking he was a killer.
Michael: Instead, he thinks he's a hero.

Michael: But I should talk. I mean, I thought I was better than this family, but I've made a mess of everything. I- I couldn't keep Lindsay around. My son will likely be ruined at the wall unveiling for not having the software. That's my fault. Turns out, I'm the worst. I'm the worst Bluth.
Lucille: Never say that! Gob is the worst.
Michael: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

Lucille: Okay, look away. I wouldn't want our congresswoman to think we're colluding.
Sally Sitwell: Hello, Lucille.
Lucille: Oh, Sally.
Sally Sitwell: Colluding with who?
Lucille: Oh, the protesters. I don't know who let these libtards in here.
Sally Sitwell: I beg your pardon?
George Sr.: People with liberal-tardation.

Sally Sitwell: Well, they're not making it easier for me to sign off on this prototype. I can't believe you'd let them in.
Lucille: We didn't let them in. I- I don't know how they got past the guard gate.
George Sr.: You know, maybe we should think about hiring a guard.
Lucille: God, I see the problem. Frosty the Snowflake over there.