Supernatural

— Nah, it's ok. You know, the truth is even at Stanford, deep down I never really fit in.
— Well that's 'cause you're a freak.
— Yeah, thanks.
— Well, I'm a freak too. I'm right there with you... All the way.

— So, we're eating bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast, are we?
— Well, sold my soul. Got a year to live. I ain't sweatin' the cholesterol.

— I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that.
— You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you talking? Buddy, next time, lower the volume.

The guy that basically just saved the world shows up at your door, you expect him to have a couple of issues.

— Meg. Last time I saw you, you fell out of a window.
— Yeah, thanks to you. That really hurt my feelings, by the way.
— Just your feelings? That was a seven-story drop.

— The Lord works...
— If you say «mysterious ways», so help me, I will kick your ass.

And I have every reason in the world to believe that.

— What the hell happened to him?
— Me.

— What are you, stoned?
— Generally, yeah.
— What happened to you?
— Life.

I'm amazing… I'm Batman!

— Dude, all right, I'll admit, we've gone pretty ghetto with spellwork before, but this takes the cake! I mean, a Spongebob placemat instead of an altar cloth?!
— We'll just put it Spongebob-side down.

— Hey, there's salt over here. Right inside the door.
— You mean like protection-against-demons salt or oops-I-spilled-the-popcorn salt?

Screw destiny right in the face. I say we take the fight to them, do it our way.

— Dean, I’ve been thinking.
— Well, that’s never a good thing.

— You're my shrink? Well, lucky me.
— And you're my paranoid schizophrenic with narcissistic personality disorder and religious psychosis. Lucky me.