Carla: Uh, can I help you?
Henderson: Do you have a Clavin here?
Carla: Yeah, but it hasn't been flushing right lately.

Woody: There's something different about Dr. Sternin-Crane. I can't put my finger on it. Is it her hair?
Norm: Woody.
Woody: No, no. I'll- l'll get it. Her dress? Oh, I've got it, her husband's growing a beard.
Frasier: Did I hear someone mention my beard? That's right, Woody. A beard, the ultimate manifestation of masculinity. Testosterone surging through my face! Every red-blooded man's birthright: hair on his chin. I don't know why I didn't do this before.
Lilith: Because I wouldn't let you.
Frasier: Oh, yes. That's right. It all comes back to me now.

Rebecca: Sam, I've been in there thinking about Russell. I mean, what's wrong with somebody paying attention to me? I mean, so he loves me, is that a crime? I'm gonna go talk to him. Somebody cover for me.
Carla: Cover for what? You don't do anything around here.
Rebecca: Ha-ha. [exits]
Carla: Seriously, what does she do around here anyway?

Sam: Hi, Russell. I'm Sam-
Russell: Sam Malone. I know. Woody's told me all about this place. Oh, Miss Howe, just as beautiful as Woody said you were.
Woody: Well, thank you, Woody.
Russell: Hey, uh, there's Mr. Peterson, and look, Mr. Clavin. Hey, there's the Cranes. You were right, Woody, like she's seen a ghost. And there, and there's Carla, right? And Tecumseh and the, and the jukebox, and the wooden lady, and the little porthole...
Paul: Hey, Russell, I- I guess you know who I am. I'm Paul Krapence.
Russell: Who?
Woody: I- I was going on and on. I had to draw the line somewhere.

Woody: Hey, Russell, you can stay with me. I got a real nice apartment. The couch almost opens out into a bed. Most days you've got heat and hot water. And it's usually quiet, except the couple next door is off the wagon this week.
Russell: Wow, Woody, that's a great offer, man, but I already made a reservation in this cheap little motel.
Woody: Can I stay with you?

Woody: Hey, Sam be real nice to him. He's- He's heartbroken. His girl he's been going out with for a long time just dumped him. So he's come to Boston to make a new start. I think he's hoping to hit the big time, like me.
Norm: Big time? Woody, you're a bartender. You- You're living hand-to-mouth.
Woody: Yep. Back in Hanover, people think I made a pact with the Devil.

Rebecca: Sam, why don't we hire him to be the piano player here?
Sam: Well maybe, as long as he works for tips.
Rebecca: Well, you- you won't regret it. I know about these things. I have a golden gut.
Carla: It must be worth a fortune. Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you said "golden butt."

Twitchell: Hey, Clavin. How come every other mailman in this town is out there busting his hump and you're in here sitting on your over-sized irregular?
Cliff: Return it to sender, Twitchell.
Twitchell: You left this in your box, Clavin.
Cliff: What's that?
Twitchell: That's the official memo regarding the new uniforms. Starting tomorrow, they are regulation wear, and that's by order of the Postmaster General.
Cliff: Huh. Wait a second. I can't believe you opened my mail there, Twitch.
Twitchell: Hey...
Cliff: Ah! [chuckles]
Twitchell: That's a good one, Clavin.

Rebecca: You know, you guys, if we're going to have a piano player that's this great, we shouldn't hide him up there in the corner. I think we should move the piano down here and put it against this wall. If you help me move it, I'll give each of you a free beer.
Norm: Oh, great. I mean, I suppose you think we're... we're like a couple of trained dogs. Every time you want us to do something, you'll waggle a free beer under our face.
Paul: Uh-uh.
Norm: We have some self-respect. We have a little dignity. Am I right, Paul?
Paul: Mm-hmm. If I do it by myself, can I have both beers?
Rebecca: Sure.
Norm: Way to go, fathead. I was working her for a pitcher.

Russell: Thanks a lot, Miss Howe. Say, what would you call that color of hair?
Rebecca: What? This hair?
Russell: Mm-hmm.
Rebecca: Well, it's nothing unusual. It's just, uh, what a medium chestnut with auburn highlights.
Carla: Is that what it said on the bottle?