The Simpsons
Sundays 8:00 PM on FOXMarge Simpson Quotes
Homie, this sculpting has made me feel so fulfilled! I'm as hopeful and full of life as I was in the years before I met you!
Marge: Homer, don't drink and drive!
Homer: Fine, I'll drive between sips.
Marge: Homer our son joined the army!
Homer: Yeah big deal. By the time Bart is eighteen we're gonna control the world We're China right?
Marge: Don't worry. I have a secret weapon. One more deadly then any gun.
Bart: Lisa's face?
Marge: A phone tree.
(In "Married to the Blob," Dr. Phil and Homer's family try to intervene during an eating rampage.)
Dr. Phil: Homer, your family's here. And you've gotta help me help them help you help me help you.
Homer: Marge, I missed you. All this eating has put me in the mood for a little lovin' (Purrs sexily)
Marge: I have to be honest with you: I can't love a 4,000 ton cannibal.
Homer: What happened to "for better or for worse?!"
Bart: Dad, you're eating Dr. Phil.
Homer: (Licks fingers) It's amazing. He tastes just like Jeffery Tambor.
(Dr. Phil can be seen grunting and struggling inside Homer's stomach.)
Dr. Phil: Food does not equal love!
(Dr. Phil perishes inside Homer's stomach.)
(In "Married to the Blob," a meteorite crashes in the Simpson family back yard and splits open, revealing a glowing green goo.)
Homer: Whoo! A space marshmallow!
(Homer plucks the goo with a stick and tries to eat the goo, which keeps trying to avoid Homer's mouth.)
Homer: Uh? Where do you think you're going?
Lisa: Dad, no! It could teach us the secret of interstellar travel.
Homer: If he's so smart, how come he can't stay out of my mouth?
(The goo struggles in Homer's mouth before finally being swallowed.)
Marge: How could you eat that goo? You don't know what galaxy it's from.
Homer: Marge, I ate it. It's over.
(The goo tries to seep out of Homer's nose.)
Homer: Whoa! Oh, no, you don't!
(A determined Homer repeatedly snorts the goo back into his nose.)
Homer: If I can keep down Arby's, I can keep down you!
(In "Married to the Blob," after eating the green goo, Homer's stomach rumbles and he wakes up in a zombie-like trance.)
Homer: Must eat, then poop, then eat some more, then eat while pooping.
(Homer heads down to the kitchen and raids the refrigerator.)
Homer: (Panting) Still hungry.
(Bart stumbles into the kitchen to see what is going on.)
Bart: Dad?
Homer: Son, let me have a lick at you.
(Homer stuffs Bart into his mouth and tries to eat him. Marge walks into the kitchen and clicks on the light.)
Marge: Homer! You won't eat my stuffed peppers, but you'll eat our son?
Homer: Nag, nag, nag.
(Homer pulls a squirming Bart out of his mouth.)
(In "Married to the Blob," Marge and Homer cuddle in the hammock in the back yard.)
Marge: Look! A shooting star!
Homer: Hey, that's great. Let's look at it after.
(Homer turns Marge's head for a kiss and while the two make out, the meteorite sears through Marge's hair and slams into the ground.)
Marge: Whoa! That almost tore my head off.
Homer: (Whining) Oh, you always find an excuse not to make out.
Marge: Homer, your butt just gave me an idea.
Homer: Yep, it'll do that.
(At the Springfield Mall, Homer finishes eating his tube of gummy worms.)
Marge: Well, if you're through, let's check out that discount book warehouse.
Homer: (Whining) We already own a book!
(Marge goes on a carpentry binge, and builds all sorts of things.)
Lisa: Wow, Mom, you made all this?
Bart: It's like you're the Jesus of carpentry!
Marge: Aww, what sweet blasphemy.
Marge: Bart, here's a letter from your school.
Bart: A fire? I didn't start a fire in the teachers' lounge! I mean, what fire? I mean, a letter from school? Please elaborate.
Marge: Someone at your school has a life-threating peanut allergy.
Bart: Cool! Who is it?
Marge: Ah, the letter doesn't say. But from now on, no peanut products are allowed on school property.
(Marge examines Bart's lunch box.)
Marge: Hmm, let's see what you've got. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich, trail mix, starring peanuts. Good grief, more peanuts!
(Marge holds up a copy of "Good Grief, More Peanuts" by Charles M. Schultz.)
