Natalie: Are you ready?
Augusten: For what?
Natalie: To play "Doctor."

Neil Bookman: I'm a fuck-up and it's your fault!
Dr. Finch: That's right, Neil. Blame your father for your inability to focus. Direct all of that rage at me if it makes you feel better.
Neil: I can't focus because of the voices! I see you for what you are. Yeah. The camera never lies. No! My parents have given you thousands of dollars and I'm still sick! You have to help me get better! You know what I do! You have to help me get better!
Dr. Finch: You're right, Neil. You're right. I've done nothing, apparently. I've never pulled any strings, gotten you a scholarship to the University of Rochester to pursue your photographic interests. Absolutely nothing.
Neil: You just wanted to get rid of me. Why won't you let me live in this house and be a part of this family?
Dr. Finch: Because I am the patriarch! And when the patriarch says jump, you jump, goddamnit! You don't co-operate, Neil, and for that, you're punished!
Neil: That's not why you won't let me live in this house. You won't let me because you're afraid of me, aren't you? Of what I could do to you in the middle of the night while you're sleeping. Huh? You're afraid of me. Aren't you, Doctor?
Dr. Finch: Our time is up, Neil. I believe we've made a breakthrough today.

Deirdre: I need high cellings.

Augusten: According to Hope, Freud died of kitty Leukemia. According to me, Freud died of being trapped in a laundry basket for four days without food or water.

Norman: So... you're saying we should split up?
Dr. Finch: In order to reach that conclusion, Norman, I would need to see both you and Deirdre on a regular and disciplined basis, for five hours a day.
Deirdre: I'm available, Doctor Finch.
Norman: Five hours a day? I can't do that! I have to work!
Deirdre: See, Doctor Finch, I told you. I'm married to a narcissist.
Dr. Finch: Norman, if I'm willing to clear my schedule to save your marriage, but you're not... then get out! Leave this office, go home, and start dividing your books and your record albums.
Norman: This is bullshit. This is really fucking bullshit. *Dr. Finch begins writing in his notebook* What're you writing?
Dr. Finch: "Norman Burroughs is homicidal. He is an unapologetic alcoholic. He is dangerous and a threat to himself, his wife, and his child."

Dr. Finch: Well, the only loophole or way I could see me getting you out of school for any considerable length of time would be for you... to commit suicide.
Augusten: You want me to kill myself?
Dr. Finch: Well, if you tried to kill yourself, I could explain to the schoolboard that you were psychologically unfit to attend, and that you needed intensive treatment. It would a staged suicide attempt. Of course, your poor mother would have to find you and drive you the hospital, where you would stay for three weeks or a month for observation.
Augusten: I don't know. It doesn't...
Dr. Finch: Augusten. Where is your spirit of adventure?

Augusten: Who's Terrence Maxwell, Natalie?
Natalie: I've never heard of him.
Augusten: Tell me who he is. Tell me who he is.
Natalie: Shut up.
Augusten: It kills you, doesn't it?
Natalie: Shut up.
Augusten: Let it out!
Natalie: Shut up!
Augusten: Tell me who he is, Natalie!
Natalie: Shut up!
Augusten: Tell me so I don't feel so alone!
Natalie: HE WAS THE ONLY ONE I EVER LOVED AND HE DOESN'T WANT ME ANYMORE! DO YOU FEEL BETTER?
Augusten: A little bit. How'd you meet him?
Natalie: Terrence started seeing my dad after his mom died. She left him everything. He was 41 when I was 13. He told me I was pretty. And he made me believe it. One day, he broke my collar bone, and I had to hitch-hike to the emergency room, and I passed out on the side of the road, and somebody found me. My dad told him that he'd press charges and that he'd go to jail unless he donated money to my college fund. Then he did. $75, 000.
Augusten: That's so great. So if you'd just apply...
Natalie: My dad spent it. Every penny. So that the IRS wouldn't take this house. So... I do know what it's like, Augusten... to love somebody who doesn't deserve it. 'Cause they're all you have. God, I hate my life.
Augusten: I hate this kitchen. I need high ceilings.
Natalie: Me too.
Augusten: Let's get rid of it then. Let's take down the ceiling.

Neil: "The Angry Nun" by Neil Bookman: "Bitch! Whore of Jesus! Dressed in black, you do not bleed, like a woman should bleed between the legs! But with your ruler, your crucifix of hatred, you strike my tender flesh! I bleed for you! Oh, mother." And then I-I ran out of ink.
Deirdre: Good anger! It ended exactly at the right moment.

Dr. Finch: Everyone! Come quickly! Wake up! Wake up! A miracle! A miracle! A miracle has occured!
Agnes Finch: What're you looking at?
Natalie: Dad's morning shit.
Dr. Finch: See? See how the duplicoil is breaking out of the surface of the water? Holy Father.
Agnes Finch: Doctor, let me draw you a nice bath.
Dr. Finch: Agnes, go get a shoehorn. A shoehorn, Agnes.
Hope: But what does it mean, Dad?
Dr. Finch: It means our financial situation is turning around. It means things are looking upward. Literally, the shit is pointing out of the pot! Towards Heaven, to God. My turd is a direct communication from the Holy Father.
*Augusten and Natalie try to hide their laughter*
Dr. Finch: No, no, no, no, children. No. Laugh. Laugh! God is... He is the funniest man in the universe. Agnes, I want you to carefully remove this, take it outside, and let it dry in the sun. We're starting a shrine, Agnes. A shrine. Hope, let's prepare.

Agnes Finch: Natalie is not coming. I told her I'd deal with it.
Augusten: Don't try to stop me, Agnes. I'm going. I'm going to miss you.
Agnes Finch: I'll miss you, too. You're a... the best son a mom could ever want. You need to know that. *She hands him a small box filled with money*
Augusten: Oh, my God. Agnes, there's - there's a lot of money here.
Agnes Finch: A penny here, a dime there. It adds up. The Doctor doesn't know I have it, of course. No one does. You know, this morning, the IRS came again. And I almost gave it to them. Then I though, "No. For once in my life, I'm going to invest wisely." When you write a book, you send me a copy. Goodbye, my sweet boy.
Augusten: Agnes. What're you gonna do now?
Agnes Finch: I don't know. Maybe I'll take down the Christmas tree.

Norman: I haven't had a drink in four years.
Deirdre: Excuse me, can you get him a medal?

Natalie: You know what, Augusten? I'm not gonna throw you a pity party. So fucking just get over yourself.
Augusten: FUCK you, Natalie. You don't know what it's like to be sent away.
Natalie: You're right, I don't.
Augusten: And you don't know what it's like to have a boyfriend that's just USING you.
Natalie: Lucky me.