Peter: Lois, I’m gonna grow a beard.
Lois: Peter, you know I hate beards …
Peter: No no Lois, it’s time I joined the ranks of great men with beards. Why do you think Jesus Christ was so popular? Cause … cause of all the magic tricks?
Stewie: Yes, but no sprinkles. For every sprinkle i find, i shall KILL you.
Lois: Oh, I haven’t been on a college campus in years. Everything seems so different.
Stewie: Really? Perhaps if you laid on your back with your ankels behind your ears that would ring a few bells.
Stewie: Hey, mother, I come bearing a gift. I’ll give you a hint. It’s in my diaper and it’s not a toaster.
Stewie: Let me guess, you picked out yet another colorful box with a crank that I’m expected to turn and turn until OOP! big shock, a jack pops out and you laugh and the kids laugh and the dog laughs and I die a little inside
Lois: Come on Stewie, you know you can’t leave the table until you finish your vegetables.
Stewie: Well, then I shall sit here until one of us expires, and you’ve got a good forty years on me, woman.
Lois: Sweetie, it’s broccoli, it’s good for you. Now open up for the airplane …
Stewie: Never! Damn the broccoli, damn you, and damn the Wright brothers.
Lois: What’s going on down here?
Stewie: Oh, we’re playing house.
Lois: That boy’s all tied up.
Stewie: Roman Polanski’s house
Meg: Everybody! Guess what I am?
Stewie: Hm, the end result of a drunken back-seat grope-fest and a broken prophylactic
Stewie: You know, I rather like this God fellow. Very theatrical, you know. Pestilence here, a plague there. Omnipotence … gotta get me some of that.
Stewie: You know, mother, this could almost have passed for a palatable banana pudding, but without Nilla wafers it’s just another one of your wretched culinary abortions. Now clean it up!
Stewie: What the hell is this?
Lois: Sweetie, that’s tuna salad.
Stewie: Oh, is that what it is? Really? Because I could have sworn it was mayonnaise and cat food.
Stewie: “Damn you, vile woman! You’ve impeded my work since the day I escaped from your wretched womb.”
Stewie: Augh! What the hell do you think you’re doing?
Brian: I’m cleaning myself.
Stewie: You were clean fifteen minutes ago, now you’re just on vacation.
Meg: Can I be in the play, Mom?
Stewie: Oh yes, you can be the dumpy teenage girl who cries backstage because no one finds her attractive.
Stewie: I say, Mother, this hot dog has been on my plate for a full minute and it hasn’t yet cut itself.
Lois: Honey, I’ll be right there.
Stewie: Oh, by all means, take your time. Oh, and when you do finally get around to it, I’ll be the one covered in flies with a belly that protrudes half-way to bloody Boston!
Mrs. Pewterschmidt: Would you like a piece of candy?
Stewie: I smell death on you.
Blast you and your estrogenical tyranny!
Stewie: The ruptured capillaries in your nose bely the clarity of your wisdom.
Chris: Dad, what’s the blow-hole for?
Peter: I’ll tell you what it’s not for, son. And when I do, you’ll understand why I can never go back to Sea World.
Chris: Dad, can you help me with my math homework?
Peter: Math. Math my dear boy is nothing more than the lesbian sister of biology.
Brian: Ah, the old alma mater. I tell you, there’s something magical about Brown.
Chris: Brown is the color of poo. Ha ha ha!
Brian: Yes. Yes it is.
Chris: Oh, I hate vegetables.
Lois: Honey, they’re good for you.
Chris: Oooh, they taste like a monkey, a monkey that’s past its prime.
Peter: If you could be stranded on a desert island with any woman in the world, who would it be?
Quagmire: Taylor Hanson.
Joe Swanson: Taylor Hanson is a guy.
Quagmire: [Laughs] You guys are yankin’ me. “Hey, let’s put one over on Quagmire.”
Peter: No, he’s actually a guy, Quagmire.
Quagmire: What? That’s insane. That’s impossible.
Quagmire: Oh god. Oh my god. I’ve got all these magazines. Oh god.