Lilith: Well, I'm off. I don't know what the future holds. Whatever happens, I only hope I can realize my full potential. To acquire things the old Lilith never had.
Carla: Like a body temperature?
Lilith: That's very good, Carla. Incidentally, I've taken your little wisecracks for a few years now, you hideous gargoyle, and if you ever open that gateway to hell you call a mouth in my direction again, I'll snap off your extremities like dead branches and feed them to you at gunpoint. God! That felt good.
Carla: Well... that was just plain rude.

[some time in the future:]
Lawyer: I am sorry about the passing of your husband, Lilith. Frasier was a good man, and we will all miss him.
Lilith: Thank you.
Lawyer: Well, I now have the unhappy task of reading your late husband's will.
Frederick: You okay, Mother?
Lilith: Yes. Thank you, Frederick.
Lawyer: "Sam Malone's sperm count is well within normal range."
Lilith: That damn bar.

Lilith: I'm going now. I'd like to leave a parting word. I want you to know that what I'm doing is very difficult. It is not to hurt Frasier. It's to acknowledge the fact that I'm changing. No one can go living year in and year out without ever changing. It's impossible. [looks at Norm and Cliff] Or at least it's very rare.

Lilith: "I'm here for a convention, and I happened to hear your voice on the radio. I kept hoping you'd introduce Pearl Jam's latest hit, but much to my chagrin, you were doling out worthless little advice pellets from your psychiatric Pez dispenser."

Lilith: Martin, I'm especially delighted to see you here tonight.
Martin: [holding his cane closer] Oh, yeah?
Lilith: Oh, yes. Knowing as I do the history of your relationship with Frasier, when I heard that he'd taken you in, I immediately flipped to the weather channel to see if hell had indeed frozen over.
Martin: Frasier, how'd you let ever this little peach get away?

Roz: Hey, that's rough. Leaving you for another man. Did you have any idea?
Lilith: No, none at all. Stan was a contractor we had hired to expand our master bedroom. It's ironic, isn't it? No sooner do I get the closet of my dreams than my husband comes out of it.