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Woody: [writing] Five...
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Deejay: You're listening to the rockin' sounds of J.J. Mikes. But first, let's take a look at tomorrow's weather...
Woody: [whistles]

Carla: Of all the stinkin', dirty, rotten, maggot-sucking, vermin-infested stinkweeds!
Norm: Practicing for that Mother of the Year speech again, Carla?
Carla: Shut up!
Sam: What seems to be the problem?
Carla: I've been planning my Elvis pilgrimage to Memphis for weeks, and now Nick is backing out of taking care of the kids. He says his appendix burst.
Sam: Well, that seems serious to me.
Carla: His appendix bursts every time I need a favor.
Woody: Boy, if he was smart, he'd have that removed.

Carla: [on the phone] Great, Nick. That's wonderful. You're not as much of a scum bucket as I thought you were. No, that's not an attempt at reconciliation. [hangs up] Hey, Nick's gonna take care of the kids. Graceland, here I come.
Sam: Hey, all right.
Woody: Didn't you go to Graceland last year?
Carla: Yeah, but this is special. I mean, how many times does the tenth anniversary of Elvis's death roll around?
Woody: Don't ask me. I wasn't a fan.

Frasier: Diane, I think you're getting overexcited. Uh, why don't you just calm down? I tell you, I've just come from my Coping With Anxiety Group, and I have just the trick. Now, here. Put this over your head and breathe.
Diane: [slaps away the paper bag] I assure you, I am in complete control.
Carla: I think the bag's a good idea anyhow.

Sam: Hey, there! Still looking for that poem, huh?
Diane: I'm sure it's a post-war piece. It's not British. The syntax is wrong. I have a hunch it might be regional.
Sam: You may not believe this, but, uh, I do sympathize with you. It's not easy to watch those people you scoffed at run past you while you remain stuck in the mud like a weighted-down elephant. Made that up.

Sam: How was the trip?
Carla: Greatest vacation I have ever taken in my life. Graceland does not disappoint. And to commemorate the special anniversary, I had this picture taken of me and Elvis.
Cliff: Oh, look at that.
Woody: How do they do that?
Carla: They use cardboard cutouts.
Woody: Wow, you know, you look almost lifelike here.
Carla: So do you, Woody.

Sam: Hey, wait, listen to me. I did not save your letters.
Diane: Where did this come from?
Sam: I found it in my apartment. I got pizza boxes that old that have more meaning. Come on.
Diane: Sam Malone, look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love me. If you can do that, then I have no choice but to believe you.
Sam: Oh, boy, I'm sorry, but... I don't love you, Diane. Uh, I thought I did once, but I was wrong. There's nothin' goin' on between us here. I mean, it's all over.
Diane: Very well. That was in the eyes, wasn't it? I guess I'll go before I make a bigger fool of myself.
[After Diane leaves, Sam takes the letter and goes to put it in a carefully-tied pile of letters he keeps in a box inside his filing cabinet.]
Diane: Aha!
Sam: What the hell are you doing?
Diane: I came to catch you in a lie, and I did. Don't I know my darling better than anyone else?

Sam: Okay, so I kept some of your letters. Big deal. I mean, that doesn't prove anything. I mean, I got lots of junk in here. Look at this. I save all sorts of things. Look- Look at that. Where is it? A warranty for my toaster. Look at that, huh?
Diane: My letters.
Sam: A ticket. Here- Here it is. A ticket to, uh, 1980 boat show.
Diane: Your protests only prove my point.
Sam: There, poker chips. Three poker chips.
Diane: You know, Sam, I was thinking...
Sam: Each one of these poker chips means more to me than your letters.
Diane: You know when we finally do get married...
Sam: A key.
Diane: ...we could move to the country.
Sam: A whistle.
Diane: Not too far away...
Sam: Look at that. A whistle.
Diane: ...because I couldn't be far from the theater.
Sam: A double-C battery.
Diane: And I know how much you love the ocean. Sam.
Sam: Four paper clips.

Diane: The most exciting thing has happened. You'll never guess. I got a letter from Syzygy.
Woody: Stop it!
Diane: Yeah!
Sam: All right, all right, who's Syzygy?
Diane: It's not a who, it's a new literary review, dedicated to publishing the prose and poetry that's right on the cutting edge.
Frasier: Well, l, for one, am excited for you, Diane. Ah, there, it passed.

Diane: Go ahead, write your little poem.
Sam: You don't think I can even write a stupid poem.
Diane: Of course you can. Don't forget to capitalize the first letter.
Sam: I'm gonna do this. I'm gonna show you that I can be as much of a reject as you.
Diane: I told you, I was not rejected.
Sam: Whatever. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a little creating to do. [repeatedly clicks his pen and taps his hand] Coffee. [goes over to Norm] Any of you guys know how to write poetry?
Norm: Uh, I know how to make fun of 'em.