Marie: Don't listen to him, Raymond. You and I are not like him.
Frank: What are you talking about? You hate plenty of people.
Marie: I do not hate people, Frank.
Frank: Oh, yeah? What about my mother? You hated her like poison.
Marie: First of all, I did not hate her. I felt sorry for her.
Frank: What about Harriet Lichtman?
Marie: I find Harriet Lichtman's flirtatious behavior towards you distasteful, but I do not hate that slut.

Robert: Hold it right there, you little twerp.
Jerry Musso: Who are you?
Robert: Who am I? I'm someone who can crush you into a fine powder, that's who I am. Now, Ray Barone has more talent in the weird pimple on his neck that won't go away than you have in your entire body, you oily, two-faced hack. You only wish you could be Ray Barone because you'll never come close to him as a writer, as a father, as a friend or as a person. [returns the snotty napkin] Come on, Raymond.

Ray: You know, the thing is, I don't hate him. I don't hate anybody.
Marie: Yes. That's one of your wonderful qualities. You got that from me.
Frank: Can I get an iced tea from you?
Marie: Your father, on the other hand, hates everybody.
Frank: That's not true. There's only some people I hate. The rest I tolerate.
Marie: Be quiet.
Frank: Careful, Marie. You're right on the fence.