Stan Smith: [to Francine] Just because snow is the same color as our refrigerator doesn't mean you know how it works.
[Klaus is riding on a model train]
Francine Smith: Klaus, you got the train to work.
Klaus: Yeah, it's in my blood. My grandfather was a conductor at Auschwitz.
Klaus: No, no, he ran the kiddie train at the zoo. You know, it's a big town, there's other stuff there.
[Roger enters wearing a festive sweater]
Roger: Merry, merry everyone!
Hayley: Wow, great sweater, Roger.
Roger: [drunkenly] Thanks, I totally sniped it from a guy on eBay. I not only stole the sweater, I stole his holiday spirit and that made my holiday spirit grow stronger. Because, that's how it works, right? Like "Highlander"? There can be only one?
Stan Smith: I don't know why Francine's so mad about me for always being right. I don't get mad at her for always being wrong.
Stan Smith: Boobs are holding up nicely for a gal her age, I'll say that.
God: [playing with toy dinosaurs] These things rule. Why did I ever send them to Mars?
[Stan has gone to God to get a second chance]
God: I'll just cut to the chase, I'm not going to help you.
Stan Smith: What? Then just help my family. You can't let them die.
God: Look, everything happens for a reason.
Stan Smith: What reason could there be?
God: Stan, I'm gonna level with you. If your family is allowed to live, Stanford's tennis team will go 0 and 8 in conference play.
Stan Smith: What?
God: [laughs] I'm just messing with you, the point is mysterious ways, have a little faith, I'm in the details. Now c'mon, you can be triceratops. I know he's your favorite.
[Stan draws a "Heaven Gun", which can kill anything]
Stan Smith: We're out of time. Now, send me back so I can save my family!
God: Not gonna happen.
Stan Smith: You have to!
God: Okay, so you know better than me, is that it? You're all-knowing?
Stan Smith: No. Yes. I don't know.
God: Exactly! You don't know, so stop trying to control everything.
Stan Smith: I don't do that!
God: Stan, you're holding a gun to God's head. I mean, I can't even think of a metaphor that's better than this. And I'm a published poet. Now, come on. Put it down.