Marge:
Okay, Kids, give me your letters and I'll mail them to Santa at the North Pole.

Bart:
Oh please, there's only one fat guy who brings us presents and his name ain't Santa.

Bart:
Come on, Dad, if TV has taught me anything, it's that miracles always happen to poor kids at Christmas. It happened to Tiny Tim, it happened to Charlie Brown, it happened to the Smurfs, and it's gonna happen to us.

Homer:
Okay, let's go. Who's Tiny Tim?

Bart:
I can't believe it. TV has betrayed me.

Homer:
What? You mean all the time? Even when they're nuts?

Homer:
Uh, I sure do.

Bart:
One 'Mother', please.

Bart:
Twenty one, Sir.

Bart:
Can we keep him, Dad? Please?

Homer:
But he's a loser. He's pathetic. He's...

Homer:
A Simpson.

Homer:
Look at this tree. Beauty, isn't it?

Patty:
Why is there a bird house in it?

Homer:
Er... That's an ornament.

Selma:
Do I smell gun powder?

Marge:
This is the best gift of all, Homer.

Homer:
It is?

Marge:
Yes, something to share our love. And to frighten prowlers.

Homer:
Um Dasher, Dancer... Prancer... Nixon, Comet, Cupid... Donna Dixon?

Teacher:
Sit down, Simpson.

Marge:
You will not be getting a tattoo for Christmas.

Homer:
Yeah, if you want one, you'll have to pay for it our of your own allowance.

Bart:
All right!

Marge:
Homer!

Homer:
Aah! Thirteen bucks? Hey, wait a minute!

Homer:
Now that just leaves little Maggie. Ah, a squeak toy. It says it's for dogs, but she can't read.

Homer:
I don't wanna leave until our dog finishes.

Homer:
Ah forget it, let's go.

Homer:
What are the odds on Santa's Little Helper?

Homer:
Woo-hoo! You hear that, Boy? 99 times 13 equals Merry Christmas!

Homer:
Did you hear that, Boy? Santa's Little Helper. It's a sign. It's an omen.

Bart:
It's a coincidence, Dad.