Frasier: You know, sitting here in my dinner jacket, I feel I should be tossing off brittle Noel Coward bon mots.
Lilith: Do you know any brittle Noel Coward bon mots?
Frasier: As a matter of fact, I do. It seems that after being told that a very boring acquaintance of his had put a bullet through his brain, Coward said, "He must have been a remarkable shot!" [laughs]
Lilith: Did he often find humor in the tragedy of others?
Frasier: Well, darling, you're missing the humor, dear.
Lilith: He got his jollies from massive head trauma?
Frasier: Don't- You're missing the whimsy.
Lilith: Oh, for God's sake, Frasier! Can you imagine the state of mind that would drive a man to do something like that? Can you picture the despair he must have felt facing a future in which any hope or joy seemed utterly impossible?
Frasier: I think I can picture that, dear.

Carla: Kelly. Kelly Kelly! [separates Woody and Kelly] Look, uh, I gotta ask you something. I'm making you guys an astrological marriage chart for a wedding present. And I gotta get some information.
Kelly: Oh, gee, I... I don't know my sign, but I know I'm not a Virgo.

Frasier: You know, kids, astrology is bad enough, but she's also a Cassandra into the bargain, always prophesying doom. You know, when Lilith and I got married, she predicted that our marriage would descend into a life of endless bickering.
Lilith: That's not exactly what she said, Frasier.
Frasier: Yes it is, word for word.
Lilith: No, you're misremembering, as usual.
Frasier: It's my story. Why can't you keep your oar out?
Lilith: Because inaccuracy is a mark of sloppy thinking.
Frasier: And what is butting in a mark of?!

Carla: I know your date of birth and where you were born, but what I gotta know is what time you were born exactly.
Kelly: It was 8:00 in the morning.
Carla: Okay.
Kelly: I weighed seven pounds, three ounces. I had very fine hair and a tiny little birthmark on my shoulder. Daddy said it was the sweetest thing you've ever seen.
Carla: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Kelly: Can you believe that sweet, innocent baby girl grew up and got it on with the Woodman this morning?
Carla: 8 am. Got it. Okay.

Carla: I'm telling you, Woody, you've got to call this thing off. Just reschedule it for any other day but this.
Woody: Well, that's out of the question, Carla. After what happened this morning, Kelly and I have to get married, or she'll be a fallen woman, and I'll have brought disgrace on my whole family, just like Uncle Orlo. He got caught checking into a motel with a cream separating machine. It may not seem shocking now, but in the early '60s, that was considered pretty weird.

Cliff: Oh, boy, huh? Looking at those two, it's hard to believe that one out of every two-and-two-thirds marriages in this country ends in divorce.
Rebecca: Where do they get those stupid statistics? What is two thirds of a marriage?
Norm: Plenty, believe me.

Rebecca: I just hope it's a short wedding. I can't wait to get to that cake. I'm starving.
Frasier: So I gather the preparations for this event have been somewhat lavish.
Rebecca: "Somewhat"?! We are talking about the wedding of the year! Look at this guest list: tycoons, philanthropists, European royalty. The kind of wonderful crowd that I could be mingling with right now if Robin and I had stayed together which, of course, we didn't. He went his way and I went mine and the dream ended and that was that. And now I've got to go over there and schlep booze so those rich pigs can pour it down their ugly throats! Life sucks.
Frasier: Okay to call on you for a wedding toast?

Sam: How're you doing, Woody?
Woody: Fine. Fine.
Sam: What're you smiling about there?
Woody: Am I smiling, Sam? Okay, I'll stop.
Sam: You're acting all weird. What's going on?
Woody: Am I acting weird, Sam? Okay, I'll stop.
Sam: Yeah, you're spacing out. You've got that goofy look on your face and that look in your eyes that I always get right after... Aw, don't tell me. You and Kelly couldn't wait till your wedding night, could you? Oh! [hugs Woody]
Woody: It's given me a whole new prospective, Sam. You know, suddenly I understand all those jokes you guys have been telling me. And by the way, ha-ha, Mr. Peterson. And ha-ha-ha, Mr. Clavin. And ho-ho-ho, shame on you, Dr. Crane.

Frasier: Ah, Woody, I understand completely. You know, forbidden fruit is often the sweetest. Many men look back on premarital sex as the last real thrill they had before the cold, dead hand of matrimony turned what was once exciting into predictable routine... [Lilith taps her pen against her coffee mug] According to this idiotic book I read.

Rebecca: Dead? He can't be dead. He just sat down there to take a little nap.
Sam: Frasier, are you sure?
Frasier: I trained as a physician. Believe me, he's dead. You don't make that mistake twice.