Diane: Didn't you ever have a dream, Norman?
Norm: No.
Diane: Not at all?
Norm: Nope.
Diane: You never wanted something that was out of reach?
Norm: Well, uh... Beer nuts.
Diane: Norman, I'm serious.
Norm: So am l. Could you just... Yeah.
Diane: Everyone has dreams, Norman.
Norm: Everyone except me. I learned early in life not to have 'em. Yeah! I figure they're useless. They don't come true anyway.
Diane: Norman.
Norm: Yeah, life's tough enough without getting yourself all worked up over something that's not gonna happen. Mm-mm. Dreams, they just give you heartache.

Diane: Norman, don't you think it's time you got home to your beloved?
Norm: No, no, it's, uh, Vera's night to howl tonight. She's, uh, hosting a Tupperware party. I'd say, uh, right about now they're probably knee-deep in lettuce crispers.
Diane: Vera's really into Tupperware?
Norm: Are you kidding? She wants to be buried in one of those things. I can just, uh, see the service. You know, they lower you into the ground, somebody burps the corner and you're sealed fresh for eternity, I guess.

Diane: I'm too excited to stick around. Anyway, you know how to lock up, right, Norman?
Norm: You kidding? I'm the one who taught you.
Diane: Right. Good night. [exits]
Norm: Yeah. Well. Ah, alone in a bar. Maybe Diane is right. I guess dreams can come true.

Diane: I'm auditioning for Boston Ballet. Would you mind if I warmed up? This seems a tad high, but it might serve as a barre.
Woody: Well, it is a bar, Miss Chambers.
Diane: No, Woody, when a dancer warms up, they hold onto a barre.
Woody: That is a bar.

Sam: Uh, what are we going to tell her?
Frasier: We're not going to tell her anything. Madame Likova is going to write her a splendid analysis. Can I borrow your office?
Sam: Oh, hey, now wait a second now. Do you think this is the right way to do it?
Frasier: Oh, listen, what harm can it do? I mean, she said this was a one-shot deal. Why not let her leave it a winner?
Carla: Uh, why would you, her favorite doormat, want to make her feel better about herself?
Frasier: Oh, I hear what you're saying. Yeah, sure, she mocked me, debased me, humiliated me, ridiculed me, finally left me at the altar, but you never really can forget your first love, can you?

Diane: Sam, the reason I came early was to tell you that I'm going to be a little late.
Sam: You're not early. You're right on time.
Diane: Oh. Well, then, I'm going to be quite late.

Cliff: Mind if I put one of these up on the old, uh, bulletin board?
Sam: Go ahead.
Cliff: Ah, better take this old one of mine down, huh? Boy, oh, boy, nobody was interested in my singles potluck seance.

Diane: Promise me, all of you, that you won't make fun of me.
Carla: Yeah, right.
Sam: Hey Carla, come on. No, we, uh, we won't make fun of you, we promise.
Diane: I've been studying ballet. [laughter] Sam! You laughed.
Sam: No, no, we just, uh, all thought of a joke.
Diane: What joke?
Carla: You in a tutu.

Norm: Diane, uh, why the sudden interest in ballet?
Diane: Oh, Norman, it's not sudden. I've had an on-again, off-again love affair with the ballet since I was seven years old. I studied for a while, then gave it up. Regrettably, of course. Although I was blessed with a swan-like neck and natural grace, I abandoned my dream of becoming a prima ballerina and concentrated instead on my career as a novelist.
Carla: Which explains why you're here in a bar pushing beers.
Diane: Oh, I remember the first time I ever put on my toe shoes...
Carla: Excuse me, Diane. Isn't your apartment on fire?
Diane: Oh, my God! I completely forgot! My poor kitty. Wait a minute. I'm sure I turned it off.
Carla: [sizzling noise] [coughing] [meowing]

Sam: What's going up this time?
Cliff: Well, you know, for years I've been saving up and, uh, finally made it. I bought myself a snazzy Italian sports car. Yup. As of tomorrow I'm going to be the owner of a brand new Alfredo.
Sam: Hey, all right.
Cliff: But first I got to, uh, sell off the old Cliff-mobile.
Sam: Wait a minute. Now you own a 1965 Chevy station wagon, right?
Cliff: Yes, sir.
Sam: This is a picture of a Rolls-Royce. What are you doing?
Cliff: Uh, read the copy there, Sammy.
Sam: "Chevy, the Rolls-Royce of station wagons." Oh, come on.
Cliff: Smart.