Homer Simpson

— What the hell's menopause?
— Son, menopause is when the stork that brings babies gets shot by drunken hunters.

— Dad, don’t act like Mussolini.
— Ooh, I thought I was doing Donald Trump.

— Homer, the Lord only asks for an hour a week.
— Well in that case, He should've made the week an hour longer. Lousy God.

— What are you doing, boy?
— Reading prayers and ignoring them, just like God.

Look, Marge! Maggie lost her baby legs!

Bart's a tub, Lisa's weak as a little girl and Maggie doesn't seem to be growing at all!

— Awww, I hate folding sheets.
— That's your underwear.

Look, the thing about my family is there's five of us: Marge, Bart, Girl-Bart, the one who doesn't talk, and the fat guy. How I loathe him!

I won't sleep in the same bed with a woman who thinks I'm lazy. I'm going to go right downstairs, unfold the couch, unroll the sleeping ba... Eh, good-night.

Ah. I'm just a big, toasty cinnamon bun. I never want to leave this bed.

To alcohol! The cause of and solution to all of life's problems!

That’s it, from now on I’m not looking forward to anything! Oh my god! Tomorrow there’s a two for one sale on piano benches. I can’t wait, ooh, ooh, ooh!

Boys don't have feelings, they have muscles.

— I can't believe it took us forty minutes to get here. Why can't they build a stamp museum closer to our house?
— Dad, you fought tooth and nail to get it away from our house.
— Lisa, when you have as many concussions as I have, consistency is... something, something... I love you, Bart.

Well crying isn't going to help. Now, you can sit there feeling sorry for yourself or you can eat can after can of dog food until your tears smell enough like dog food until your dog comes back, or you can go out there and find your dog.

I can't take his money. I can't print my own money. I have to work for money. Why don't I just lie down and die?