Marie: Ray, we told you you were a good writer so that you would think you were a good writer, see? Then somebody gave you a job. That's what parents do. They all lie to their kids for their own good.
Ray: Other parents aren't lying, Ma. They believe in their children.
Marie: No, they don't.

Debra: Ally drew another picture of our family and she still says that these monsters aren't your parents.
Ray: All right. So maybe they're not.
Debra: Ray, this one is bald, and this one's carrying a covered dish.
Ray: You know what? Save that. Someday a therapist may want to see it.

Frank: Listen, you got bigger problems than your little words there.
Ray: Like what?
Frank: Like scratching the microphone. Nobody could hear what the hell was going on!
Marie: Well, at least... At least the scratching kept him from waving his hands around like he was landing planes.
Frank: The microphone was much worse.
Marie: No.
Frank: It seemed like he'd never been on television before.
Marie: He's never been on television, but he's had his hands his whole life.