Adult Sheldon: Finally, the cooking began. 14 hours of cooking. And basting. And spritzing. And tending to the fire.
George: Oh. Rest, my darling. Rest.

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

Georgie: A bill? Really?
George: Room and board, buddy.
Georgie: $50 a month for food?
George: The way you eat, I should've gone $50 a week.
Georgie: Laundry services?
George: Your poor mother has to touch your underwear.
Georgie: What's the $10 a month "peema" charge?
George: Oh, P-I-M-A, that's a "Pain in My Ass" tax. My way of getting compensated for you taking years off my life.

Georgie: You know what else is nice?
George: Hmm?
Georgie: I get to learn from all your parenting mistakes.
George: I'm starting to think letting you live this long was one of 'em.
Georgie: Like that. I'd never say something so awful to my kid. [George scoffs] Thanks, big guy.

Georgie: And I wasn't eavesdropping.
George: Don't worry about it.
Georgie: I just don't see why I got grounded.
George: What are you complaining about? You didn't want to go to church picnic anyway.
Georgie: I like complaining. I'm good at it.

Adult Sheldon: The average American consumes 55 pounds of beef per year. And then there's Texas, where we can knock that off in a couple of months. Maybe faster, if we're talking about smoked brisket. Curiously, the one cut of beef that Texans and Jews agree upon.

George: I don't want this woman in my house anymore.
Mary: She is my mother.
George: She is the devil.