Agent Garfield: Mrs. Barone, you seem like an intelligent woman.
Marie: Thank you. Have a cookie.
Agent Garfield: Do you really think that a mother interfering to the extent that you have could possibly help a man get a job with the FBI? There's something else going on.
Marie: He was supposed to retire! He's a year away from not being a police officer. Which means I could stop worrying about him every second of the day. I want him to be safe. Now he wants to go from one dangerous job to another? How long do I have to walk around with a knot in my stomach? Forever? I can't do it anymore. It's too much! But he wants this job. It'll make him happy. And he should be happy. So, yes, he should have this job. Please, give him this job.
Agent Garfield: I can't do that.
Marie: No. No, don't blame him, you can punish me! Put one of those tracking things on my legs so I can't get out of the house. And if you met my husband, you'd know that's punishment enough.

Marie: Raymond, do you see what they see?
Ray: Um... I don't know.
Marie: No, tell me the truth.
Ray: Well... Maybe if I squint a little.
Marie: Oh, my God, I'm a lesbian!

Debra: First of all, it's not a book. It's pieces of construction paper.
Ray: You sound a bit close-minded.
Debra: Hey. Eileen, you have no idea what I have to put up with. When I got married, I didn't just get a husband, I got a whole freak show that set up their tent right across the street. And that- That would be fine, if they stayed there. But every day... Every day, they dump a truckload of their insane family dreck into my lap. How would you like to sit through two people in their 60s fighting over who invented the lawn? The lawn! And then the brother, "I live in an apartment. I don't even have a lawn. Raymond has a lawn." But you can't blame him when you see who the mother is. She has this kind of sick hold on the both of them. And the father's about as disgusting a creature as God has ever dropped onto this planet. So no wonder the kid writes stories! I should be writing stories. My life is a Gothic novel! And until you have lived in that house, with all of them in there with you day after day, week after week, year after friggin' year, you are in no position to judge me!

Marie: Shame on you! This lady dies, and this is all she gets?
Frank: Hey, Marie, you two weren't that close. What are you takin' it so hard for?
Marie: Because she was the one, Frank. She was the one I picked for you.
Frank: What?
Marie: I wanted you to be with Rose Caputo.
Linda: Kinky neighborhood.
Marie: Years ago, I decided to pick someone to replace me if I died before you.
Frank: What do you mean? To marry me?
Marie: Yes. Someone to make you happy after I was gone.
Frank: Oh, that's nice, Marie, but, uh... I think I'd be happy enough.

Marie: It's too bad.She was perfect. Oh, by the way, the viewing hours are the next three nights at Cannizaro's funeral home.
Ray: Oh is it gonna be an open casket?
Frank: For Rose Caputo? I hope not.
Marie: Have some respect, Frank.
Frank: How about some respect for the truth? She wasn't exactly a looker.
Ray: Ma, look, how could this happen, anyway, okay? What about her husband? Isn't George still alive?
Marie: Yes. But the man is supposed to go first.

Debra: I picked someone to replace me.
Ray: Yeah? Who?
Debra: Margaret Stevens.
Ray: Who?
Debra: The kids' preschool teacher. I think she's perfect for you.
Ray: Perfect?! She's gotta be- She's old enough to be my mother!
Debra: I thought you would like that.
Ray: Oh! Ho ho. Yeah. How about I replace you with somebody nice?