Don't eat the yellow snow.

The people of your century no longer require the service of composers. A composer is as useful to a person in a jogging suit as a dinsoaur turd in the middle of his runway.

Tosses her head and flips her hair, she got a whole bunch of nothing in there.

You can bet everything will come to an end. It's going to be ugly and it's going to be a mess, and it's going to be something that somebody did in the name of God.

I ain't the type for begging, I am not the type to plead. If she don't change those evil ways, I'm gonna make her bleed.

Why doncha come on over to the house and I'll show 'em to ya?

My best advice to anyone who wants to raise a happy, mentally healthy child is: Keep him or her as far away from a church as you can.