Sandy Travis: Do you love her?
Tim Travis: I don't know.
Sandy Travis: Then you don't, Tim.
Sandy Travis: I bet we're the only mother and son in town who can say "masturbating" to each other and not laugh.
Sandy Travis: I don't see why we should do this, Ben.
Penny Travis: I agree. It's creepy, okay? This is *really* creeping me out.
Sandy Travis: I won't be making all this extra food for every meal. It's wasteful.
Tim Travis: It doesn't bring him back.
Ben Travis: We do it because I say so. We'll do it because he *will* be alive at this table. And because he is my son. And because he was the *only* thing in this family. You'll make the food, and you'll shut the fuck up.
Sandy Travis: Look, you can tease, torture, punch, drive drunk with me. I can forgive you. Hell, I can understand it, I'm a good Christian. You know, I can forgive and forget. But, um, you mess with my kid, and may God himself descend from heaven to protect you. Because as long as I live - and I *will* outlive you all - I will wake up, and go to sleep at night, just dreaming up ways to make your petty, insignificant lives into hell on earth. You fuck with my kid again, you fuck with him... and I will fuck with everything you hold dear.
[throws paper cup across the room]
Sandy Travis: Nice trailer.
Sandy Travis: Marge, show me my life the way it should have worked. Show me the life I would have had without your big mouth. Show me the life I deserved.
Sandy Travis: [to Tim] The truth is you won't understand how good for you I am until I'm dead.
Sandy Travis: Was he really that unhappy, Tim?
Tim Travis: He broke a lot of dishes. He stopped washing his clothes about three weeks ago. He spent a lot of time in the shower.
Sandy Travis: He was masturbating.
Tim Travis: He was crying.
Ben Travis: I love you.
Sandy Travis: You've gotta be kidding me.
Kyle Dwyer: Hey, Timmy, I've got a surprise for you. Want one?
Tim Travis: What is that?
Kyle Dwyer: Ecstasy.
Tim Travis: Kyle, it's the middle of the day. We're mowing lawns.
Kyle Dwyer: Exactly.
Kyle Dwyer: Look at the stars. Same stars as last week. Last year. When we were kids. When we weren't even born. In a hundred years, no one will ever know who we were... They'll know those same stars.