Norm: You got the cheering under control. I'll mosey up to the bar for a beer.
Cliff: You're gonna miss the game, Norm.
Norm: Then that's a perfect plan, huh?
Sam: Hey, Cliffie, how're we doing here?
Cliff: Fifty pins down, sinking like a stone, Sammy.
[Norm walks into the bowling alley bar:]
All: [o.s.] Norm!
Sam: How the hell do they know him here?
Cliff: He's got a life, you know.

Diane: Excuse me, but you've obviously come here to belittle my friends. Why? I can only speculate. Perhaps you're compensating for some physical shortcoming. I don't know. But it's tragic that you place such stock in a silly competition. What of higher attainments? What of loftier pursuits? What of art? And philosophy? What of music?
Gary: I graduated magna cum laude in American Literature from Princeton.
Diane: Oh? Couldn't make summa?

Diane: Ah, the alleys. Thanks. It's really a sensory experience, you know. The scent of Aqua Net on a beehive hairdo. The roar of polyester against old Naugahyde. The sight of a cigarette stubbed out in a patty melt. All this, plus the anticipation of placing your feet in shoes only 7,000 others have worn before you.

Sam: Say, Woody, it's still not too late to change your mind.
Woody: Don't you understand? I maimed a man.
Sam: Bowling accidents happen. You read about them in the paper all the time.
Woody: He was only an innocent maintenance man.
Sam: Come on, man. He knew the risks.
Woody: I still don't know what happened. You know, one minute, I was picking up the eight-ten split, and the next thing I know, the ten pin flies and hits old Sully right between the eyes and he goes down like a sack of wheat. Sam, I ruined the man's life.
Sam: Oh, come on. I'm sure you're exaggerating.
Woody: Oh, no. No, I'm not. Old Sully got too dim-witted to stay in bowling maintenance. Last I heard, he was a clown at children's birthday parties.
Sam: Well, what's wrong with that?
Woody: He wasn't invited to them.

Diane: [to Woody] Give me your shoes. Give me your shoes.
Cliff: Oh, Diane, are you bowling?
Diane: Yes.
Sam: Come on. Well, are you any good?
Diane: Yes. And if you whisper a word of this to anyone who matters, I'll find you and I'll kill you. Did you think I came by my utter contempt for the sport by accident? Hardly. I took it in college.
Sam: You bowled in college?
Diane: Yes. I needed the PE credits. I could read between frames, and you didn't have to run. I spent six semesters sweating in a tawdry bowling alley.
Carla: Bowlers don't sweat.
Diane: They do when they're wearing tweed. In spite of my complete disdain for the experience, I have no intention of letting this Ivy League lounge lizard insult me and my sorority sisters and send Cheers to ignominious defeat. [Diane bowls a strike] Your mama!

Diane: Back so soon from the sport of the great unwashed? How was the audition?
Sam: Tryout. Diane, in sports, it's called a tryout.

Carla: I gotta hand it to you, Whitey. For once, you did something that didn't make me wanna shove a rat in your mouth and sew your lips shut.
Diane: Such praise. I blush.

Cliff: Buon giorno, Norm.
Norm: Cliffie.
Cliff: Yeah. Kind of bright out there today, huh?
Norm: Yeah, I wouldn't know.
Cliff: Yeah. I feel sorry for all those people that have to squint.
Norm: Say, Cliff, those wouldn't be new glasses, would they?
Cliff: Oh, hey, you noticed, huh? Yeah, Italian imports. Sixty-five smack-a-roonies. That's right. Notice the sleek, European styling there, the sturdy reinforced frames, and the hi-tech, shatterproof reflective lenses that allow me to scope out the dollies without drawing attention to myself.
Carla: You could walk up to them naked with your hair on fire and not draw attention to yourself.
Cliff: Yeah? What would you know? They only work on women.
Carla: You! They seem to have given you courage. Prove it.
Cliff: Well, what do you mean?
Norm: Yeah, I wouldn't mind seeing a little demonstration myself.
Cliff: All right, all right. All right. All right!
Norm: You've got the shades. What are you worrying about?
Cliff: [to a woman] Excuse me.
Woman: Oh, perfect! [applies lipstick while looking at her reflection in Cliff's glasses] Thanks.

Sam: Damn! Now I know why they weren't afraid to let me play. They were great out there. They were like the '27 Yankees.
Woody: He's exaggerating. There were only nine of them.

Norm: Come on, guys. We can't just sit around crying in our beer here.
Diane: Norman's right.
Norm: We don't have any. Come on, Diane, step on it, will you. I feel a tear welling up here.