Debra: That's why I want to go to counseling. I don't think it's that you're just lazy. I think there's a deeper reason behind this, and if we could just figure it out, you and I could be happier.
Ray: Come on, you know me. There's not much deepness. I just... I like to be taken care of.
Debra: You gotta understand, Ray, that that's not a wife. That's a mother.
Ray: Well, maybe that's what I want!
Frank: Holy crap!

Marie: So that's how you both fell? A race around the house, which you often do as a tradition?
Ray: Uh, yeah.
Frank: Stupid, humped-up termite trap!
[Frank falls through the stairs into the basement]
Marie: Oh, my God! Frank, are you all right?
Frank: [o.s.] Holy crap!
Marie: Don't move, I'm coming right down!
Frank: [o.s.] I'm in enough pain!

Frank: What kind of food do they serve here?
Debra: I believe it's French.
Warren: Ever been to France?
Marie: Oh, no, we're not world travelers.
Lois: Oh, France is so lovely. You have to go.
Frank: I don't appreciate the French... as a people. I find them annoying. Truly.

Lois: Oh, I love Stomp.
Frank: Who's Stomp?
Debra: It's sort of like a rhythmic dance. These guys, sort of bang together anything they can find... trash cans, hub caps, brooms.
Frank: And you loved it?
Lois: Oh. Loved it. We're going back.
Frank: How much do they charge for this?
Warren: $40.
Frank: For $20, I'll bang on my garbage cans till your ears bleed.

Robert: Isn't this one of those joints with those dressed-up waiters?
Ray: Yeah. What's wrong with dressed-up waiters?
Robert: They give me the willies. They just put me on the spot, you know? It's like authority figures.
Ray: Authority figures? You're a police sergeant. You out-rank the waiter.
Robert: Yeah, but how is he going to know?