Meemaw: Mandy seems nice.
Georgie: She's all right.
Meemaw: Things getting serious?
Georgie: I don't know. Why?
Meemaw: Just wondering when you were gonna tell her your real age.
Georgie: Age ain't nothing but a number.
Meemaw: Yeah, well, her number's way bigger than your number.
Georgie: You ain't never lied about your age?
Meemaw: I'm a lady. Different rules.
Georgie: It's not a big deal. We're just having fun.
Meemaw: Yeah, well, before you have too much fun, you better tell her.
Georgie: That sounds less fun.
Meemaw: Welcome to being an adult. It sucks.

Mary: Mom, can you make the salad?
Meemaw: Sure.
George: Hey, don't put in any of those little tomatoes.
Meemaw: Hey, I don't tell you how to impersonate a lump of clay. You don't tell me how to make a salad.

Meemaw: I know this is hard for everyone. It's certainly hard for me. But no one... is more upset with George's passing than the Lone Star Beer company. That flag is at half-mast. [laughter] On the other hand, there's a lot of cows out there that are breathing a sigh of relief. As the king of brisket has put down his fork and ridden off into the sunset. [laughter] And, uh, I'll tell you something...
Missy: Why are they laughing at Dad?
Georgie: 'Cause they love him.
Meemaw: ...that I always kind of kept to myself, but... I wasn't always a big supporter of George and Mary being an item. As a matter of fact, whenever he came to visit, I would always invite Mary's slutty friend Janice over, hoping to catch his interest. [laughter] Hey, Janice. Thanks for coming. You're a doll. [Dale looks back] Anyway... George only had eyes for Mary. And of course brisket. [laughter] And over the years, he surely earned my respect. He was a good man. [voice breaking] And I will always be proud... to call him my son.

Sheldon: Meemaw? I assume you've read the Surgeon General's report on the dangers of smoking?
Meemaw: I'm gonna wait till they turn it into a movie.

Dr. John Sturgis: Societal norms are different on road trips. Normally, I don't eat junk food, but here, it's tradition. I'm not even sure what a chicharron is.
Sheldon: It's the deep-fried skin of a pig.
Dr. John Sturgis: That seems like something they should say on the bag.

Pat: Look, you seem like nice folk, but Yankees ain't popular around here. I suggest you be on your way.
Dr. Linkletter: Sorry to have troubled you. Let's go.
Sheldon: Excuse me. My colleagues may be from the North, but for your information, I'm a Texan, born and bred. I know that real chili has no beans, and when my meemaw says, "Bless your heart," she means something very different. Now, my friend here is in need of help, and since our state motto is literally "friendship," may he please use your phone?
Pat: Well, dang. [puts the phone on the bar]
Dr. John Sturgis: And could I trouble you for a yellow pages?
Dr. Linkletter: Oh, boy.

Adult Sheldon: After a quick burial behind the bar, we were back on the road. Dr. Sturgis tried to find some appropriate music for a proper send-off. Three Christian talk shows and a whole lot of static later, he settled on what he declared the Dixieland jazz of West Texas. ["El Son de la Negra / Guadalajara" playing] Mariachi.
Dr. John Sturgis: Vaya con dios, armadillo. Vaya con dios.