Frasier: Carla, now you're being silly. Listen, statistics prove that this is...
Carla: The hell with statistics. Does the words "ice on the wings" mean anything to you?
Frasier: Oh, that is simply the sun glinting off the wings. Does that look like ice to you? [the plane shakes]
All: Meow, meow, meow. Meow, meow, meow. Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow.
Frasier: Will you stop that incessant caterwauling?
All: Meow, meow, meow.
Frasier: Why aren't they serving drinks?
Carla: Hey, Fras, you okay?
Frasier: I'm fine. Fine.
Carla: You look a little green.
Frasier: I'm perfectly all right. Where is that damn cocktail cart? What was that?
Carla: What?
Frasier: That pinging noise. I heard it. I heard a ping, a ping, ping. What, have you all gone deaf or something?
Carla: Hey, hey, ease up.
Frasier: Do you feel cold air rushing in here?
Carla: No.
Frasier: My God! There's a leak in the fuselage!
Carla: Calm down, Frasier.
Frasier: Oh, God, look! It's the wings! They're flapping around like a wounded duck! We're all gonna die!
Carla: Frasier! You're not in your happy place.
Frasier: What do you mean? In a grave? We're going down! We're going down! I got to get out of here! Mommy! Mommy!
Carla: Frasier!