Homer: Okay, the first thing they told me to do was to make sure everyone's in the right class.
(Someone in the class spits tobacco at him)
Homer: Down the hall. Room 12.
Lisa: (visiting Homer in the treehouse) Here, Dad. I brought you some nice ... aah!
(Homer has made a model of Marge; a tall plant to match her hairstyle, with a paper plate face stuck to it)
Homer: Good news, Lisa. I don't need your mother anymore. I've created a replacement that's superior to her in almost every way!
Lisa: Dad, that's just a plant.
Homer: Lisa! You will respect your new mother. Now, give her a kiss! KIIIIISS HER!
(Homer thrusts the plant in Lisa's face and accidentally drops it out of the treehouse, where it breaks on the ground below)
Homer: Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God! Okay, let's get our story set. She tripped, right?
Smithers' Wife: Come on Waylon, make love to me like you used to.
Smithers' Wife: It's that horrible Mr. Burns, isn't it?
Smithers: (yelling) You leave Mr. Burns out of this!
(Smithers smashes the bottles of alcohol off the dresser)
Mr. Burns: (screams) Smithers! Smithers!
(Smithers gets all excited and rushes out to see Burns)
Groundskeeper Willie: If I wanted to see a man eat an orange, I would've taken the orange-eatin' class!
Reverend Lovejoy: Get a divorce.
Helen Lovejoy: Mmm-hmm.
Marge: But isn't that a sin?
Reverend Lovejoy: Marge, just about everything is a sin. [holds up a Bible] You ever sat down and read this thing? Technically, we're not allowed to go to the bathroom.
Marge: We don't think you're slow. But on the other hand, it's not like you go to museums or read books or anything.
Homer: Do you think I don't want to? It's those TV networks Marge. They won't let me. One quality show after another, each one more brilliant than the last. If they only stumbled once - just gave us thirty minutes to ourselves. But they won't, they won't let me live.
Bart: What the hell are you talking about? You're the one who double dared us.
Homer: Why, you little! (chokes Bart)
(Before bed, Marge talks to Homer about the personal secrets he has been revealing in his class)
Marge: Homer, I really don't like you telling personal secrets in your class.
Homer: Marge, I didn't tell them personal stuff.
Marge: Today at the Kwik-E-Mart everyone knew I dyed my hair!
Homer: Oh, you mean about you. All right, maybe I should have said some things, some personal things. But you should have seen them Marge: They really wanted to hear what I had to say--
Marge: Hmmm, I'm happy about that. But I think you can be a good teacher and still respect our privacy.
Homer: Look, Marge, you don't know what it's like. I'm the one out there every day putting his ass out on the line! And I'm not out of order! You're out of order! The whole freaking system is out of order! You want the truth? You want the truth?! You can't handle the truth! Cause when you reach over and put your hand into a pile of goo that was your best friend's face, you'll know what to do! Forget it, Marge, it's Chinatown!
Marge: Homer, don't EVER tell them personal stuff about me again!