Robert: Ma, why do you need all this fabric?
Marie: I got it real cheap and I'm gonna make beautiful curtains for your apartment.
Robert: Great, Ma, is it flame-retardant?
Marie: Of course.
Robert: Just my luck.

Robert: He made you cry.
Ray: I didn't cry.
Robert: You cried.
Ray: The ball hit me in the eye.
Robert: Then you cried.
Ray: Yeah, my body was reacting.
Robert: To the desire to cry.

Ray: Who was it who finally beat Dad, huh? [chuckles] Yeah. Yeah, who was that?
Robert: Of course, the first of the many Raymond glories.
Ray: I got him with my Rayman spin ball, boom!
Robert: Yeah, Dad was so crushed. So sad.
Ray: Yeah, that was great. I didn't have to play ping-pong with him ever again.

Marie: You're talking about playing ping-pong with your father? I always hated that. He made my Raymond cry.
Robert: Aha!
Ray: I didn't cry.
Marie: Oh, honey, your big brown eyes getting watery, the little sniffles, you were so precious.
Ray: I was not!
Robert: Oh, Raymond.

Marie: Oh, I'm glad he finally let you win that time.
Ray: What?
Marie: Yeah. How would you and Debra like a bedspread made out of this?
Ray: No, Ma, Ma, I beat Dad. Okay? I beat him. Don't you remember? I was in eighth grade, it was in March and I came home and I put my sneakers on and I had a Fluffanutter. I remember the Fluffanutter because I thought it would help me beat him. But after I won I realized it had nothing to do with the Fluffanutter. Ma?
Marie: Whatever you say, dear.
Robert: So Dad let you win. Interesting.
Ray: No, he didn't. No, he did not. It was me, pal. I was on that day.

Ray: I want a rematch.
Frank: I'd be all for it if there was any chance of making a man out of you. But that horse has long since left the barn.
Robert: Yeah!
Ray: Yeah well, that horse is gonna kick your butt. Come on. Come on, if you let me win back then, you should have no problem beating me now, right? Unless...
Frank: What are you saying?
Ray: It's what I'm not saying.
Frank: Okay, tough guy, you're on.
Ray: Good.
Frank: You got the balls?
Ray: Yeah, don't worry about me, pal, okay? Oh yeah, we've got to buy some balls.

Debra: Ray, come on!
Ray: You're still up?
Debra: No, now I'm up. You know... You know what would be louder? If you hit the ball directly against my head. Come on, come to bed.
Ray: Sorry, no sex before a game.
Debra: Yeah, that's not a problem.
Ray: Come on. I need to practice.
Debra: Yeah, but I need to sleep, honey. I got to take the kids to the doctor in the morning and then I need to see a lawyer about divorcing you.

Debra: Listen, this shouldn't be that big of a deal. Your father has always given you a hard time. You should be used to it.
Ray: I am- Look, the thing is this- I beat him, okay? And I always had that on him. If I didn't really win that game, if I didn't beat him, then I don't know, I'm just 12 years old crying in the basement.

Frank: Marie, get a mop. 'Cause after I play Ray, the floor is gonna be soaked with tears.
Ray: Yeah, but they're gonna be your tears, 'cause it's gonna be your funeral.
Frank: If it's my funeral, how could I be crying? Nice try.
Marie: I thought it was good, Raymond.
Frank: Oh look, Ray's got a cheerleader. Warn me when you're gonna do a split.

Ray: One serving zip, I see a quivering lower lip.