Sheldon: Mm, no, thank you. I'm not hungry.
Tam: "I'm not hungry." The three words you never hear in Vietnam.

Mary: You smoke marijuana?
Sheldon: Mom!
Libby: No, ma'am.
Tam: Just say no. [Mary shoots him an unimpressed look]

Tam: Look at this, my mother left me a note. "You can do better. Mom." Not "Love, Mom," not "XO, Mom," just "Mom."

Tam: Spending the Thanksgiving weekend working in my family's convenience store, I observed my father and mother working from 6:00 in the morning till 10:00 at night. My hypothesis was that economic advancement for immigrant families is more important than celebrating a holiday where people eat until they pass out in front of the TV.
Mr. Givens: All right, Tam. Well, based on your observations and hypothesis, were you able to make a prediction?
Tam: Yes. At some point, my father would die prematurely from stress. And my mother will come live with me, where she will constantly disapprove of my hot, blonde, American wife.
Mr. Givens: Okay. Uh, I think we all learned something there. Uh, thank you, Tam.

George: And Sheldon's fine. You know what he's like. If someone took him, I'm sure they'll bring him right back.

George: If we take him to a shrink, it feels like we're admitting something's wrong with him.
Mary: He hasn't had solid food in five weeks.
Meemaw: Well, if there is something wrong with him, it ain't constipation.

Missy: Meemaw, are you gonna have any more babies?
Meemaw: Good Lord, no!
Georgie: She's too old to have any more babies.
Meemaw: Don't have to have 'em. You live long enough, your hair and your teeth start falling out, you start wetting the bed, you get to be one.
Georgie: [laughs] That's funny. We're gonna have to put a diaper on you.
Meemaw: You won't be laughing when you're doing it. I might be.