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Dean: What do you want me to do, Sam, huh? Sit around all day writing sad poems about how I'm going to die? You know what, I've got one. Let's see, what rhymes with "Shut up, Sam"?

(To the townspeople who are about to sacrifice him for their farm)
Dean: I hope your apple pie is freakin' worth it!

Dean: Damn cops.
Sam: They were just doing their job.
Dean: No. They were doing our job, only they don't know it so they suck at it.

Sam: I've got a theory. Sort of.
Dean: Hit me.
Sam: Well, thinking about fairy tales.
Dean: Oh, that’s... that's nice. You think about fairy tales often?