Marie: You spent their childhood being a dreadful goon, and all it did was make them want to sneak out of the house.
Frank: Maybe they wanted to get away from you. That's why I sneak out of the house.
Marie: Don't you dare try to turn this around. You insisted on being the disciplinarian. You're the one who said to me, "Oh, don't hug them so much. You'll make them soft." Well, obviously, I should have never stopped hugging them! [hugs Ray & Robert] Oh! I am so sorry I let this crazy man loose on you.
Frank: Stop hugging them!
Marie: No, Frank. That's what parenting is... love. You just love 'em. No matter how many bad decisions they make, no matter how many times they don't listen to you, you just keep loving and hope that maybe someday that love will make them realize how much they hurt you.
Robert: And you wonder why I drank the schnapps.

Marie: See, I expect this from Frank, but you boys have no reason to have any interest in such things.
Frank: Why not?
Marie: Because I never nursed them.
Frank: What the hell are you talking about?
Marie: Everybody knows that if you breastfeed boys when they're babies they're gonna grow up to be obsessed with breasts.
Robert: That's why you didn't breastfeed me?
Frank: That, and the two of you were almost the same height. We were gettin' looks.

Marie: Just answer the question. Would you take me in?
Ray: I'm not answering that question.
Ray: It's an unofficial question, Ma.
Marie: I'm all alone. Where do I go?
Frank: Wait a minute. What happened to me?
Marie: You passed away.
Frank: What? I died? How did I die?
Marie: We'll see.

Frank: What happened?
Robert: Well, I yelled, "Hey, hey, bull!" I don't know. I guess I distracted him because he stopped cold. And then he turned. And then he started coming for me.
Debra: Oh, no!
Robert: Oh, yeah. It was like that Wall Street ad.
Frank: Or that malt liquor commercial.
Robert: Yeah. So he's coming towards me, and...
Marie: Did you get away?
Robert: [long silence] Where are we, Ma?

Frank: I told you I still had to tweak it!
Debra: I know, but it has a lot of problems, Frank. I mean, most of the time, I can barely use it.
Marie: Oh, dear. Can we really blame the stove?

Robert: It was you? Oh my God, I'm sorry, Ma. I've been giving you the silent treatment all week.
Marie: You have?

Marie: Listen, I know this has been hard on you, honey. And you're doing everything you can for Raymond. But maybe the way you can help him relax is very simple.
Debra: What do you mean?
Marie: Well, I couldn't help wondering, dear, are you making yourself available to him? You know what I'm talking about?
Debra: Please, Marie!
Marie: Listen, you know Raymond doesn't like to ask for things.
Debra: Do we have to talk about this?
Marie: I'm just trying to help.
Debra: You know, I didn't say anything when you told me how Ray liked his underwear folded, but this is over the line.
Marie: Well, I'm sorry, but Raymond needs your help. Debra, you... Have a glass of wine first!

Frank: Hey, it's not that fruit-of-the-month thing again, is it?
Ray: No, no, no.
Marie: Oh, that was the worst!
Frank: They're still coming! We got grapefruit out the wazoo!
Marie: You promised. You promised you'd stop them.
Debra: You're still on the computer. It's gonna take a couple of months.
Marie: Dear God!

Ray: You know, Debra's right. She's right. I don't stick up for her enough. I always give you the benefit of the doubt 'cause I don't wanna upset you and you pull something like this. Do you know what you did? Do you know how crazy you drove Debra?
Marie: I didn't mean to make her crazy. I just wanted her to try to make the meatballs, fail, and give up. That way, everything would stay right.
Ray: Right? What makes that right? You have a problem, Ma!
Marie: Okay, I have a problem, but let me ask you something, Raymond. Would you come over here so much if I didn't make food for you?
Ray: Yeah! I'd come over for other things.
Marie: What other things?
Ray: These special moments.
Marie: Raymond, I'm your mother. I used to do everything for you. And then, like, I blinked, and you grew up. What do I do for you anymore? I mean, what's left? My food!

Marie: What you said just now, I have to admit, it came as quite a shock.
Debra: To me too.
Marie: I mean to stand there in front of everyone and tell them you wished your own mother was more like me? That- That I'm the mother you wish you had? That is what you were trying to say, weren't you?
Debra: Well, I, maybe...
Marie: I mean after all these years to find out what you- What you really think of me. You know, you were a little rude, dear.
Debra: What?
Marie: You can't talk to your mother like that. No matter what she's done, she's still your mother.