Cliff: Oh, uh, l, uh, hate to be a buttinsky here, but, uh, this is the absolute worst time to buy a house.
Sam: Why is that?
Cliff: Ah, seller's market. Unless you run into that, uh, rare breed, you know, the motivated seller. Now, you know, for a price, I could put you in a sweet little, uh, three-bed, two-bath number. Uh, it's got, uh, fishnetting over the patio and a handmade, uh, uh, lava rock fire pit in the back.
Norm: Cliffie, uh, that sounds a little bit like your house.
Cliff: It is my house, Norm.
Norm: Wait, wait, wait now. You said your mother was going to live there till the day she died.
Cliff: Well, uh, she's clean, and she doesn't eat much.

Cliff: It wouldn't surprise me one bit if it was Rebecca.
Sam: I don't know.
Cliff: No, I mean, it's us quiet, reserved types who, when properly stimulated, turn into your average churning hunk of burning funk.
Norm: Now, Cliffie, uh, can you tell me exactly at what point in your life you came to that big fork in the road where reality took a left and you hung a sharp right?

Rebecca: Can you believe it? Her first day on the job and Evan's little tart is late. That's because she knows I can't do anything about it because her lover boy is the big boss. Isn't she just the queen of gall?
Cliff: Oh, no, that was Charlemagne's wife, I think. Well, you know, if memory serves, I think her name was Cathy.

Cliff: Hey, Sam, hey, uh, back from the Denise decathlon, huh? [chuckles] Got a, uh, another gold medal in the "broad" jump?
Sam: You know, you got a big mouth, Clavin.
Cliff: Hey, he happens to be right, you know. Yeah, it's a genetic quirk in the, uh, Clavin family that we all have two extra teeth. Yeah, you see, that's the only way that we can prove that we are the rightful heirs to the Russian throne.
Frasier: Hello in there, Cliff. Tell me what color is the sky in your world?

Cliff: Good gravy, look at here. Says that one out of every three of our leisure dollars is spent in some kind of an amusement park. Mickey Mouse is a billion-dollar industry. For crying out... You know, if you've got to have theme parks, you know, why not give the kids some real heroes to look up to? You know what I mean? Like generals, astronauts, postal workers, uh, pioneers.
Frasier: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up there, Cliff. Postal workers?
Cliff: Sure. Yeah, why not? Hey, why not indeed. Get this. "Postal World". Huh? No, hey, hey, that's that's not half bad.
Norm: No. It's all bad.
Cliff: No, no, no. No. No, no, no. Just imagine this. You know, a whole amusement complex devoted to the postal experience. I mean, all of America could thrill to the glory and-and the pageantry and the passion that is the US Postal Service.
Frasier: And you seriously think that'll work?
Cliff: Oh, you bet I do. You know... You know, if I can peddle this idea, I might be able to make some real money and get out of this dead-end job.

Carla: I don't know what that Latin lover said, but I sure dig the way he said it.
Cliff: Well, if you ask me, Ramon's a lot more Latin than lover. Yeah, you know, study after study show that the old sons of Spain just don't have our sexual prowess.
Norm: Cliffie, nobody has your sexual prowess.
Cliff: Thanks, Norm. You know, it seems that the tropical sun dries out a man's vital juices. You ever seen a raisin?
Norm: Have you ever seen a doctor?

Cliff: Carla's got herself a real Poindexter there, huh? Yeah. It's sad to say that kids not accepted by their peers really never learn how to get along with people in the big grown-up world.
Norm: Why is that, Cliff? 'Cause they keep boring everyone and driving them crazy with long speeches filled with meaningless statistics?
Cliff: Yep, yeah. 63% of them live lives of quiet desperation.
Norm: And how about those who sit next to them?

Cliff: Eh, fine, here, go ahead and laugh. Yeah, go ahead and laugh. We'll see how funny you think this is. [laughter] Oh, as you you may have guessed, this is a hybrid cross between a rutabaga and a beet.
Sam: What are we calling it?
Cliff: Beetabaga.
Norm: Cliffie, I don't want to poke holes in this thing, or even touch it, actually, but really, I mean, how useful do you think this is going to be?
Cliff: Are you kidding, Norm? This is a perfect vegetable for kids who hate rutabagas but love beets.
Norm: Oh, and there must be, what, dozens of those, right?
Cliff: Exactly. Fills a long felt need, Norm. That's why those faceless bureaucrats in Washington are trying to steal it away from me. Which reminds me. Uh, I got an affidavit here I'd like you all to sign saying that, uh, Clifford Clavin is the inventor of the beetabaga.

Sam: OK, one more thing here. What do you think is going to make her go to sleep faster, Brahms's "Lullaby" or "The Sounds of Spring Showers in a Rain Forest"?
Cliff: You know, Sammy, that question has plagued mankind since the beginning of time. How to lure to our bed the elusive Morpheus, son of Hypnos, known to the sand dwellers of Rome as Somnus. Now...
Norm: If you really want to put her to sleep, Sam, record him.

Woody: Mr. Clavin, how can you be delivering mail on the coldest day in Boston's history except for one?
Cliff: Well, a very good question there, young Woodman. It seems that like any member of your camel family, we Clavins have an extra... No, wait. That's how I can go without water for a week.