Sam: That's it, time's up. What do you got? You first.
Woody: I've got "reap," "pear" and "ear."
Cliff: Well, I'm sorry, Woody. I got those too, so it cancels yours out. But I've also got "flork," "ferd" and "snot."
Sam: Come on, man, there's no such word as "flork."
Cliff: What are you talking about? You know those little flags on the mailboxes? What do you think holds them on?
Woody: Gee, Mr. Clavin, you're so smart I don't even know why I bother playing with you. You always win.
Cliff: You know what I say, Woody? You just gotta be tenacious, just like the great horned "muren." Hey, well, besides, you almost beat me in the last game.
Woody: Yeah, just missed by a cat's "pleck."
Cliff: Yep.

Norm: [enters] Evening, everybody.
All: Norm!
Diane: Norman.
Sam: Still pouring, Norm?
Norm: That's funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.
Cliff: Hey, some storm, huh?
Norm: Yeah. If I don't get home to Vera soon, that road's gonna be closed. Say about another half hour or so ought to do it.

Carla: Diane, I heard screams.
Diane: Oh, well, I dreamt I was being murdered.
Carla: Was I the one who was murdering you?
Diane: No.
Carla: Was I helping in any way?

Diane: Sam? Sam, I'm sorry. I feel awful. You were right. Please accept my apology.
Sam: Oh, forget it, Diane. I forgive you. The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blest. It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Diane: Thank you, Sam. What did you say?
Sam: I think you heard me.
Diane: Yes, but you said it.
Sam: Well, perhaps in his pithy way, Blake said it best. Oh, yes. And throughout eternity I forgive you, and you forgive me.
Diane: I can't believe my ears.
Sam: Oh, come on, Diane. [puts on a velvet smoking jacket] You really didn't believe that buffoonish facade that I've been perpetrating for the benefit of my blue-collar clientele, did you? [smokes pipe]

Sam: Perhaps a spot of chamomile tea would calm you down. [removes a tea set from his desk] There you go. Please. Careful.
Diane: Sam, I never found you so attractive.
Sam: Oh, well, how nice. Listen, before we take this any further, would you mind sitting down? I'd love to play you a little something from an opera that I've been writing. It's-- It's based on the Old Testament. It combines the brooding intensity of Mahler with the pesky insouciance of Poulenc, and it goes something like this. [plays the keyboard]
Diane: Sam? Sam? Take me. Now. I want you. Put the keyboard away, and let me be the instrument you play on.
Sam: Diane?
Diane: Yes.
Sam: Do you realize you just ended that proposition with a preposition?
Diane: Just have me. Have me. [they kiss]

Carla: Sam, table six wants a bottle of the house red.
Sam: Woody, would you mind going down to the wine cellar and getting some more, please?
Woody: Of course not. You know, I used to be afraid of the dark, but I got myself over it.
Sam: Oh, yeah? How'd you do that?
Woody: Oh, well, I just shut my eyes and pretended it wasn't there.

Sam: Kind of a spooky night, huh?
Diane: Sam, how can you be so calm knowing this man is free? You've never taken him seriously. Just because he smiles at you with that pink-cheeked, round kewpie doll face and says, "Hi there," you think he's harmless. Well, he's not. He's a cold-blooded homicidal maniac.
Sam: Hey, no guy is gonna walk in here into this brightly lit bar and attack you. [thunder; the lights go out] Probably not in a dark one either.
Diane: Oh, Sam!
Sam: What? Now, come on, everybody, just relax here. I got candles now.
Norm: That's right, everybody, just keep calm, all right? I mean, no reason to panic here. Sammy, those taps operate when the power is out, don't they?

Sam: Is Andy cured, or isn't he?
Frasier: Well, Sam, a trained psychiatrist never uses the term "cured." Unless we're talking about ham. [laughs]
Sam: That's pretty good.
Frasier: No, to wax serious, Andy's progress has been remarkable, and, well, I'll-- I'll vouch for his stability.
Sam: Well, then I say let's help him. I mean, we'll be giving both of them a new chance on life there.
Frasier: By George, Sam, sometimes out of the mouths of babes.
Sam: No, let's not talk women now.

Woody: Boy, that's some storm out there tonight, huh, Mr. Clavin?
Cliff: Well, to the layman perhaps, Woody. But in my profession we have a saying: "Neither rain nor sleet nor gloom of night shall stay this courier from the swift completion of his appointed rounds."
Tim: [enters] Cliff, my car is stalled outside. How about getting me your jumper cables?
Cliff: What, and catch my death? Hit the bricks.
Tim: Appreciate it.

Sam: Okay, guys, time's almost up.
Woody: How do they expect you to form words with all the letters mixed up like that?
Cliff: That's the point of the game, Woody.