Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

This little milk ball was a mistake.
A positive reflection in a floor-length mirror.
-I-- -Okay, then, Mrs. Botwin.
Ignore the dark warnings at your own peril.
Oh, come on. You just need to remind Cee-Cee...
You in my house, lady.
I'm the papa. Yes. Tradition.
Nice job baby-proofing, Shane.
-I did not approve this. -Now he looks like his daddy.
-You know, I admire you. -Go away. This is my spot.
But I'm starting to realize my mother gave me lots of bad advice.
Goyim.
A professional woman, a doctor, no less...
I'll go with them.
Yeah, and you too, from what I hear, but slightly smaller.
Why the hell should I help you?
I'm buoyant. I'm a buoy.
Almost.
Try cherry.
But it rhymes with "drug" and "hilas."
-Way to start him off on a life of crime. -Oh, come on.
"Why, yes," I reply, as I usually do to that particular question.
If you break the contract, if you do not pay what you owe...
I'm obsessed with the drama.
Just need a few scribbles on a few dotted lines.
-I can get you high. -No, I'm clean.
I'll find my own way.
And then West Germany.
You walked out. I have to think about the baby now.
Little presumptuous, don't you think?
...and I have a room full of You're Pretty!
-Oh, he's Jewish now? -Reform, but yeah.
-And then we get the pot back? -Guaranteed.
-How old are you? -Thirty-seven.
The rabbi brought them. Apparently you need ten Jews...
-I'll see you at 7. -Yes.