Brian: Face it, you're a sucker for a woman with blue eyes.
Stewie: Aha! Her eyes are green!
Brian: Aha! Thank you for proving my point!
Stewie: DAMN!

[Lois and Peter are standing in font of the airport, without any passports, after their plane was hijacked and forced to land on Cuba]
Lois: Uh, Well, this is just great! How the Hell are we supposed to get home?
Peter:Look, all we got to do is to get some fake passports on the black market.
Lois: Where are you going? You never gonna find the black market!
Peter: Oh, that's what you said about that back-alley-abortionist! Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you changed your mind, the point is I found the guy.

Stewie: Oh, Cupid. Has thou pierced me with thy sweet-searing arrow? Stomach, cease thy lustful quake. [The nursery lady picks Stewie up and pats him on the back repeatedly] Unhand me woman! I don't have gas, I'm in love! [burp]
Well, then. I guess it's both.

Stewie: Oh, Rupert, I can't sleep. I don't suppose you have any Valium on you? Of course not. You're leading the clean life now.

Peter: Woah, woah, woah, woah! Wait a second! You're telling me, I flew all the way to Kentucky, to get some of your fried chicken, and...and the Colonel isn't even working today??
KFC Employee: He ain't here. He dead.
Peter: [Mishearing 'Dead' as 'Did'] What??
KFC Employee: I say he dead.
Peter: Is Mr. Sanders in?
KFC Employee: What wrong wit you? I say you he dead!

Cat in the Hat: Your parents will be home any minute, are you sure you don't want me to clean the place up?
Young Peter: No, no, go... it'll be funny.

Lois: A flight attendant? Wow, that does sound exciting. What made you change your mind?
Peter: Just my desire to see you happy.
Lois: Aww...
Peter: And to exploit your hard labor for free travel and fun.
Lois: What?
Peter: Shhh... I didn't say anything. Go to sleep, crazy lady.

Lois: Peter, do you even know which one of our children I'm talking about?
Peter: Gordon?

Stewie: HA! That's so funny I forgot to laugh...excluding that first ha.

Stewie: There's really no such thing as love. It's just a word used by Madison Avenue to sell their skin creams and two-seater cars.

Peter: Lois, if we don't make it outta here alive, I should tell ya I promised my first girlfriend we'd meet up in heaven. I was lying, but just so you know, it's something we might have to deal with.

Stewie: [to Melinda] This is what you call "dolled up"? Why don't you save yourself years of sexual ambiguity and get fitted for a pair of Doc Martens and a plaid flannel shirt?

Peter: We gotta get some fake passports on the black market.
Lois: Where are you going? You're never gonna find the black market.
Peter: That's what you said about that back-alley abortionist. I'm glad you changed your mind, but the point is, I found the guy.

Lois: My feet are killing me, I've got vomit in my pocket and I've seen that crappy Julia Roberts movie 47 times! Have you seen the lips on that woman? It's like a baboon's ass on her face!

Peter: So Lois wants a part-time job, right? So I'm, like, I got a job for you, baby... right here! [points to his pants] See, the zipper's been broken for over a month. I gotta use a damn safety pin.

Stewie: [to Janet when she cries after Stewie taps her head during "Duck, Duck, Goose"] Oh, come on, now. I barely touched you. Really. Stop it. Stop your boohooing. Stop it, I say. Stop it! You see? You see? This is exactly why people don't respect the WNBA.

Stewie: Look, if this is about the whole me-killing-you thing, it was a bit! I was doing shtick, I tell you! Homina-homina-homina!

Lois: Stewie needs to learn to socialize with other children. Maybe we should put him in daycare.
Peter: Lois, his answers are out on the open road. I say we give him a hobo pack on a stick, a can of beans and a pocketful of dreams.
Lois: Peter, do you even know which one of our children I'm talking about?
Peter: Eh, Gordon?

Peter: Y'know, Miguel over there has had his eye on you, and his wife Rosa is very open.
Lois: What?
Peter: No, nothin'. This [Boarding a raft back to Quahog with refugees] is nice.

Janet: Cookie?

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