Ray: How long are you going to be?
Debra: Depends.
Ray: On what?
Debra: How long it takes to fix what you've done here.
Ray: So, like, a few minutes, right? Listen. I'm really sorry.
Debra: Yeah, I know you are.
Ray: Can I get anything? Do you need any help? Anything I can do at all? Look, shouldn't you just yell at me here or something?
Debra: Ray, when you're on the Titanic, you load the lifeboats. You don't stop to yell at the iceberg.

Frank: How come Robert's got $3,000 to throw around? He should be giving us rent money.
Marie: He's our son, Frank. You don't charge your son.
Frank: He's a giant, Marie. Do you know what it costs just to heat him?
Ray: All right. Thanks for coming.
Frank: Food, too. He's got $3,000, and I'm paying for the Pudding Pops.
Marie: You eat them, too, Frank.
Frank: No more Pudding Pops. And no solid white tuna, either. The chunk light is perfectly fine. I'm not running a country club anymore!
Marie: I like the solid white.
Frank: Too bad!
Marie: It's my one luxury.

Debra: I will say this.
Ray: Okay. Good. Go.
Debra: You put so much effort into a fake checkbook. Why didn't you take a little of that effort in doing it right in the first place?
Ray: I don't have to sit here and take this.
Debra: No, really. Come on. I want to know.
Ray: It's the numbers. I stink at numbers.
Debra: You wouldn't if they were golf scores. And that's what bothers me the most. It's not that you can't do it. It's just that you won't do it. You're like the kids. They only want to do what's fun.
Ray: And yet, you still love them.
Debra: You know, I hate doing the checkbook, but I do it anyway. And do you know why I do it even though I hate it?
Ray: Because deep down, you really like it.
Debra: No, Ray.