Marie: Okay, let's go, Frank! Kitchen isn't open all day.
Frank: Unlike your mouth.

Ray: How many times have I told you to move out? You always got some lame excuse. "I'm worried about money."
Robert: Money is a good excuse.
Ray: "I'm only 33." "They let me put a lock on the door." "I'm only 37." Yeah, you know what? You don't need any more excuses. I'm not gonna tell you to move again.
Robert: Good.
Ray: That's right.
Robert: Great.
Ray: That's right. Stay miserable for the rest of your life and wonder if you should've moved out, but now it's too late 'cause you're old and bald and living with Mom and Dad. [Marie enters] And you're gonna find out that the designated hitter is bad for baseball. Nine guys hit, nine guys field, that's the game. It's the way it was meant to be played. [Marie leaves] What, are you gonna move to Florida with Mom and Dad and stay at a retirement village? I'm not flying to see 1,500 miles you wearing socks with sandals.
Robert: Why are you bothering me, Ray?
Ray: Because you're always complaining about living with them, but hey, look who's still here.
Robert: All right, enough. Would you mind your own business?
Ray: I just hate seeing you like this, 'cause-- whatever, I like you.

Marie: I'm not gonna forget this, Raymond.
Ray: Mom.
Frank: Me neither.
Ray: You? You're always yelling at him that he should move out, making him feel like a loser.
Frank: I don't really want him to go. If he goes it's just me and her.
Robert: [sings] I'm about to lose control and I... [talks] Hey there, Pop.
Frank: Don't go! I love you.