Lois: That is it! Get up! Get back! Come here! Go there! Okay. We are going to take this picture and it's going to be good. And that means no faces, no tongues, no crossed eyes, no bunny ears. We are going to smile. We are going to look good. It is going to cost us $9.99. And all of this is going to happen by the time I count to three. [all arguing] One, two, three. [arguing stops] [shutter clicks] [arguing resumes]

Reese: Yes! There's a Chucky movie on tonight.
Lois: Not in this house. You know how your father feels about evil puppet movies.

Reese: Aw, Mom, no fair.
Lois: What's the matter? Afraid you can't beat your mommy?
Reese: [to himself] She's just a person. She's just a person. [they arm-wrestle]
Lois: Oh, no. He's finally going to win.
Hal: What's he playing for tonight?
Lois: Bedtime and a Chucky movie.
Hal: Stop screwing around and pin him.

Malcolm: Check it out, Stevie. The T-Rex is three feet tall with a movable jaw.
Stevie: Red paint for blood.
Malcolm: This is so cool!
Kitty: [runs in] I heard screaming.
Malcolm: Yeah. I said, "This is so cool."
Kitty: Is that a switchblade?
Malcolm: It's an X-Acto knife to cut the pieces apart. I use it all the time.
Kitty: Oh, my goodness. Well, we'll lock this up with the scissors. How about a puzzle? Stevie, it's been a long time since you did the Arc de Triomphe. We'll just give that back when you go home. [exits]
Stevie: Puzzles are... fun.

Malcolm: I can't move.
Stevie: Welcome to... the club.
Malcolm: I'm never going to fall asleep. It's too early.
Stevie: Want to tell... ghost stories?
Malcolm: No. I want to do that dinosaur model.
[As Malcolm frees himself from the bed, floor lighting goes on and an alarm sounds as his feet hit the floor.]
Kitty: [over intercom] Ms. Kenarbin: Everything all right in there, boys?
Malcolm: Um, yeah. A plush toy just fell on the floor. We're fine. [mutes intercom]
Stevie: [gasps] You... can't.
Malcolm: I just did. Your parents need to cut you some slack.
Stevie: They just... want me... safe.
Malcolm: No, they want you to be four. Stevie, parents aren't allowed to control everything you do. Sometimes you just have- [Stevie falls asleep as the timer dings]
Stevie: Sorry. Conditioning.

Reese: Okay. You want maturity. Here's three weeks of social studies homework. Now I'm one week ahead. Plus, I called Grandma.
[on tape:]
Woman: Hello.
Reese: Hi, Grandma. It's Reese.
Woman: Who's this?
Reese: Grandma, it's Reese.
Woman: Who's Reese? No, I won't accept charges.
Reese: Grandma, come on. It's Reese.
Woman: I'm very tired.
Reese: Please.
[to his parents:]
Reese: It goes on like that for another ten minutes but I still want credit.

Dewey: How much does my head weigh? [lays head on scale] Zero. [repeats] Zero.

Stanley: Downtown... rocks. What's that?
Malcolm: A stripped car.
Stevie: What's that?
Malcolm: A naked man arguing with a wall.
Stevie: What's that?
Malcolm: A nudie bookstore... with my dad coming out of it.
[Malcolm ducks as Hal walks by. As Hal sees Stevie sitting in a shopping cart, he reaches in to his pocket and grabs some change]
Hal: Oh. Here you go. [to himself] Daddy is gonna get some love tonight.

Stevie: Tonight... was... awesome.
Malcolm: Well, we kind of got lucky.
Stevie: I was... sort of hoping... to get caught.
Malcolm: What?
Stevie: Never been... in trouble. Like to see... what it's like.
Malcolm: Sometimes you're such a Krelboyne.
[As Malcolm pushes Stevie's chair towards his house, two police cars pull up outside the house]
Stevie: I guess... we are... in trouble... after all. [Malcolm has disappeared] Malcolm? Malcolm. Malcolm?

Francis: Finley, what are you doing in the cupboard?
Finley: Poquito cabeza.
Francis: Get out of there, man.
Finley: I can't. I've been marked by the brothers of the apocalypse. Poquito cabeza.
Francis: Brothers of the apocalypse? It's ridiculous. It's five seniors with limited imaginations.
Finley: Yeah. That's easy for you to say. You've got Stanley protecting you. And you're not holding poquito cabeza.
Francis: Would you stop saying poquito cabeza.
Finley: I can't. And I'm not coming out. Oh, could you turn in my math homework?
Francis: [closes cupboard door] These guys are so lame.
Stanley: Amateurs.
Francis: Poor Finley. [erases Finley's name] He's good at math, right?