Oh, dear, do you not have Christmas in the future? Is that my fault as well?[to Rory]
Nothing is ever good enough for you. “Why don’t you have a desk? Why doesn’t your car have a roof? Why’s your kitchen just a wall of Scotch?”[to God]
No, of course not. What do you think I am? Human?[Mazikeen ‘Maze’ Smith: Are you still upset about me trying to betray you and kill you? It was a month ago.]
Never mind the why. This is gonna be great, Detective. Lots of changes when I’m in charge. War eradicated, world hunger satiated. Hangovers… never should have existed in the first place.
Lifestyles of the rich and tasteless. Looks like Liberace had a yard sale.
It’s time, Doctor. For the final therapy of Lucifer Morningstar. For real, this time.[to Linda]
I knew TV writing isn’t all hookers and blow like the ’80s, but I had no idea how sad it had got.
I don’t need to go home to be happy. You’re my Hell.[to Eve]
Hell hath no fury like a record producer scorned.
Criminals don’t simply line up to be punished.