Barry: Dad, we need you to sign a permission slip.
Murray: Ask your mother.
Erica: She's not home.
Murray: I hope it's not time-sensitive. Good luck to both of you.
Erica: We both got jobs at Spencer's Gifts, and we can't start until we get parental consent.
Murray: Give it to me! I'll sign it right now!
Barry: Before you do, you should really understand what you're agreeing to.
Murray: I agree.
Erica: Just know if you sign that slip, there's a good chance we'll become fully independent and move out.
Murray: Damn it, where's my pen?
Barry: You might not even have to pay for college.
Murray: I need my pen!
Barry: Here you go, Father.
Murray: Let's sign this baby.
Barry: And that's just one of the many hilarious items we'll be selling at Spencer Gifts.
Murray: Not even you being a moron can spoil my mood. This is the greatest day of my life! Uh, this'll work.

Adam: It was terrible. They shook me down for all my quarters.
Pops: Was one dressed like a ditzy redhead and the other like a smart-alec shoeshiner?
Murray: Albert, not everything is a grift.

Beverly: Yeah, I stare at him, too. (chuckles) It's hard to believe that the bigger he gets, the more delicious he becomes, huh?
Erica: Are we looking at the same thing? The hell is in your son's hands right now?
Barry: Why does he have a waterproof Sports Boom Box with mega bass when we had to get jobs to get one?
Beverly: Adam is not like the two of you. He can't just work any old job. He's, uh- What do I want to say here? Better than you.
Barry: He's better than you!
Erica: You can't say that!
Beverly: I knew you'd understand.

Murray: Okay, let me clean this up. He's saying you're definitely not gonna make it. Good talk.
Adam: But Mom believes in me.
Murray: Yeah, well, she also believes that Erica's gonna be on the cover of Rolling Stone and Barry's gonna be a surgeon.
Adam: Oh, sweet balls! None of those things are ever gonna happen.

Beverly: Don't worry, sweet potato. Mr. Glascott doesn't know anything.
Mr. Glascott: Oh, but I do. You see, I once made my way out to L.A. with my own foolish dreams. I thought I'd become a big-time Hollywood scriptwriter. I even wrote a teleplay.
Murray: "Sole Brothers"?
Mr. Glascott: That's "sole" spelled S-O-L-E. Upon their father's death, two brothers take the reins, or laces, of the family shoe store. They're detectives, but they have different styles. You really need to read it.
Murray: No, I don't.
Beverly: What are you telling my boy?
Mr. Glascott: I'm telling your son the same thing Robert Wagner told me when I approached him in the men's room at Chasen's, this is inappropriate.

Adam: Dad, today I became a man.
Murray: Go brag to your friends and your grandpa. That's not a "me" thing.
Adam: No, no. I got a job.
Murray: A real one?
Adam: Yep, at my favorite place in the world, the arcade.
Murray: All my children have jobs? This is my dream. I close my eyes, and this is what I see.
Adam: That's a sad dream, but you have a sad life, so I get it.

Barry: Mmm. Hickory Farms samples. What's better than free meat?
Erica: Do you even know what you're eating right now?
Barry: Hello? It's summer sausage. It's delicious because it's made by the sun.

Erica: Well, keep dreaming, 'cause there's no way Dad's ever gonna buy us one.
Lainey: Well, you could always get jobs.
Barry: A job? How would I be able to spend time after school at the mall if I already have a job after school at the mall?

Mr. Glascott: No, your son would do miserably in Hollywood, and that's a fact.
Beverly: My son is a star, and you're gonna die alone!
Mr. Glascott: While I do feel that way, I'm just stating the hard truth. It's more likely that your puny son will become a power forward for the Sixers than a big Hollywood muckety-muck.
Adam: Oh, no, Mama. I don't want to play whatever sport he's talking about.

Mr. Glascott: Oh, speaking of my screenplay, I mocked up a poster to help sell it in the room. These are twin shoe salesmen/detectives, Jeffrey Sole and David Alan Brothers.
Murray: If they're brothers, why do they have different last names?
Mr. Glascott: If you read the script, you'd understand.