Norm: [enters] Afternoon, everybody.
All: Norm!
Coach: What can I do for you, Norm?
Norm: Well, I need something to kill time before my second beer. How about a first one?
Coach: You got it.

Sam: Oh, come on. This is not degrading. Diane, in Boston, this is considered a very big honor.
Cliff: Yeah. Yeah. Di, it's really big, you know. It's not as big as Mail Carrier of the Year, of course, but it's up there.
Paul: Mail Carrier of the Year? Who do they give that to? A postman or a pigeon?
Cliff: Hey, watch your mouth.
Paul: It was just a joke.
Cliff: Yeah? Well, don't you ever, repeat, ever, joke about the US postal service in front of me or any other mail carrier. All right?
Norm: He didn't mean anything at all by it.
Cliff: Yeah, I'd like to see how fat and sassy he'd be without his daily mail. I'm sorry, Normie, I just don't know what came over me.
Norm: That's OK. You had every right.
Cliff: Well, the Post Office is everybody's target. But when they want a letter fast, huh, who do they come to on their knees?
Paul: Federal Express.
Cliff: He's mine!

Sam: Wait, you dropped some cards here. You dropped some cards.
Diane: Oh, never mind.
Sam: Wait, what is this? "Women pitted against each other in a public display of servitude." Well, I don't know what it means, but it's making me hot.

Diane: These contests perpetuate the attitude that women are mere objects, to be judged and ranked in respect to how well they serve man.
Sam: Oh, come on! Lighten up, will you? Relax a little bit. I mean, this is not the UN. Have some fun.
Diane: Do you think being scrutinized, poked and prodded like a side of beef is fun?
Sam: Well, not every day, but on your odd Saturday night...

Carla: Hey, you know, you look a little like Tip O'Neill.
Tip O'Neill: Yeah? You know, a lot of people say that. But really, I'm a better-looking fella than he is.
Sam: Oh, my God, you are Tip O'Neill! How do you do? I'm Sam Malone.
Tip O'Neill: You used to throw for the Sox.
Sam: Yeah, that's right. What are you doing here at Cheers?
Tip O'Neill: Well, I'm walking down the street and a lady stopped me. Started to tell me about her philosophy of life and her philosophy of government. So I ducked in for a quick one.
Sam: Well, what can I get you, here?
Diane: [enters] There you are! Oh, Mr. Speaker, forgive me for being relentless, but I really want to talk...
Sam: Diane. Diane, step into the office for a minute.
Diane: What? I'll be right back.
Sam: No, she won't.

Norm: One more quick one, Coach, then I've really gotta run.
Cliff: Hey, Norm, what were you saying last week about that do-nothing Congress in DC?
Norm: They're a bunch of clowns.
Cliff: Eh, you think so, huh?
Norm: Yeah, you could take the average guy off the street and he could do a better job.
Cliff: Nah.
Norm: Sure. This bozo right here could probably be a better Congressman than them.
Tip O'Neill: You know, I may run for office someday.
Norm: Yeah? You do that. You're out of work, too, huh?
Tip O'Neill: No, I'm the Speaker of the House of Representatives.
Norm: [scoffs] Don't be ridiculous! That'd make you Tip O'Neill, and me... a horse's butt.
Tip O'Neill: You said it, not me.

Coach: Glad you came in today, Norm. Big day.
Norm: Yeah, what's going on?
Coach: The Miss Boston Barmaids contest. They're picking the finalist.
Paul: What is it?
Coach: What is it? Paul, it's only the biggest event of the year. I mean, words can't describe it.
Cliff: Ah, a bunch of waitresses serve drinks and one wins.
Coach: Yeah, that's about it.

Cliff: Coach is particularly excited today because this year, the contest is being held right here at Cheers.
Norm: All right! Is that right?
Carla: You know, I hate to burst your bubble, Coach, but the contest's a phoney. You gotta fool around with the judge to get in.
Cliff: Oh, that's disgusting!
Carla: Yeah, and he won't return my calls.

Carla: Oh, give me a copy! That proves it. There is no God.
Coach: That little pixie. She didn't say a word about it.
Sam: Well, no, she doesn't know a thing about it. I entered her without telling her.
Carla: Why, Sam? Just to cause me anguish?
Sam: All right. All right, she's not the best waitress in the world. But she makes the other categories. "Perky, pert, congenial and fun."
Carla: And I don't?
Sam: Sweetheart, you cannot join the contest. You're pregnant.
Carla: So? Proves I'm congenial.
Sam: Good point.

Diane: Who did this? Who is responsible for this? I'll kill him! [off Sam's look] You did this.
Sam: That's it. Wong Song You. He got killed in the Orient trying to rescue a nun. [murmurs of agreement] That's him.
Diane: You entered me much as one would enter a heifer in a county fair.
Coach: Oh, no, no, no. Come on, Diane. I mean, no. The judges they just come in, they secretly watch your work, and then they pick the finalists. In a county fair, you take the cow to the judges.
Sam: Thanks a lot, Coach.
Coach: Any time, Sam.