Frasier: Woody, cognac for all my friends. We're celebrating this year's recipient of the Fisk Foundation grant.
Norm: All right. I knew you could do it, buddy. What the hell is it?
Frasier: It's a very prestigious and lucrative fellowship that will enable me, finally, after all these years, to complete my treatise. "Man's need to work, the never-ending drive. To build, create and achieve."
Cliff: Yeah, must feel pretty good.
Frasier: Oh, you bet. If I can cop one more fat grant, it's loaf city.

Nash: Well, maybe we'll, uh... We'll meet again, when your daddy isn't around.
Woody: I don't need him to protect me. I'll meet you anywhere, anytime. You can find me at Cheers.
Nash: I'll see you there tomorrow.
Woody: I'll be there with bells on. That's just an expression.

Woody: Ugh, did I get struck by lightning?
Sam: No, Woody.
Woody: Oh, right, I guess that only happens once in your life.
Sam: He's okay.
Woody: Gee, I hate for you guys to see me like this, all dopey and muddle-headed.
Carla: Yeah, we barely recognize you.

Norm: All right, here you go, Cliffie. How about getting your mom a pair of these soothing, gel-filled insoles, and odor eliminators.
Cliff: It's only her birthday, it's not Christmas.
Woody: How about one of these Lucite snack trays that plays the theme from Cats?
Cliff: Yeah, Valentine's Day, 1963. Back then it played "Exodus."
Sam: Hummingbird feeder?
Cliff: Come on, you guys are just being silly now, right?
Norm: Well, then, Cliff, I'm afraid you're going to spend a little more than $1.99 for your mom's gift.
Cliff: Yeah, you're right, Normie. You only turn 70 once.
Carla: Speaking as a mom, you know, when my kids give me gifts, the ones that always mean the most to me are the ones they make themselves. For instance, look at this little key chain here. Anthony made this for me the first year he went away to camp. I carried it with me ever since. I think it might be the most precious thing I own.
Cliff: Well, I'll give you three bucks for it.
Carla: Done.

Rebecca: Sam, you're working a big party the 26th at Mr. Gaines'.
Sam: Another big party? How come you always get roped into running these things?
Rebecca: I'm not running this. I'm just delivering the message. Yes, I will be attending the party, but as an honored guest. An honored guest who happens to show up a couple of hours early and leave a couple hours late. And I will do as any other good guest will: help clean up, and maybe park a few cars.
Sam: So what's the shindig for this time?
Rebecca: Oh, it's one of those welcome-back-from-your-fabulous all-expense-paid-trip-to-Europe, you-sniveling-snot-brat of-a-vice-president's-daughter's tennis brunch.
Woody: Gee, I've never been to one of those.
Rebecca: Good. You're tending bar. There's the address. I'll see you at 10:00, Sunday morning.
Woody: She played right into my hands.

Man #1: Jack Daniels, neat.
Sam: Coming right up, sir.
Man #1: Say, aren't you Sam Malone? Didn't you used to be a pitcher?
Sam: Yep, that's me.
Man #1: Now you're doing this? Well, nothing wrong with tending bar. It's good, honest work. Uh, here's a little something for you.
Sam: [to Woody] Those rich snobs, man. They think they can look down their noses at you, and then make everything better by slipping you a measly... 50 bucks?!
Man #2: Two white wines, please.
Sam: Yes, sir. Coming right up here. You know, Woody, I tell ya, it's a long way from pitching in the major leagues to slinging drinks. What am I gonna do, you know? I mean, life's dealt me this lousy hand. I guess I'm just gonna have to play it out, huh? I'm sorry, sir. Uh, there are your drinks.
Man #2: Thank you.
Sam: Oh, bless you. [to Woody] I'm definitely on to something here.

Nash: Anyway, I'll be summering in D.C., God help me. Dad's favoring me with the option of going up on the Hill to page or being a clerk. So what do you think?
Woody: Oh, uh, excuse me for interrupting, but I'd go with the clerk job. I had a blast the summer I clerked at the Piggly Wiggly.
Nash: Uh... I'm sure you did, but I was talking about being a legal clerk.
Woody: Oh, this was all in the up and up.
Nash: Are you always this obtuse?
Woody: The cummerbund makes my waist look thick.
Nash: Yeah, yeah, thick. That's the word I was searching for.
Woody: Write it on your hand. You'll never forget it.
Kelly: He's very funny.

Sam: Whoa, whoa, what's going on here, man?
Woody: This guy just said I wasn't as stupid as I look, Sam.
Sam: Whoa, whoa, come here. Listen, whoa, whoa, stop. I mean it. Really, listen, before you go out there, let me just say a couple of things here. Now I've been a bartender for quite a few years and I've broken up a lot of fights in my day. And I'll tell you no matter who's involved, whether they're rich guys or poor guys, tall guys or short guys, fat guys, skinny guys, guys with speech impediments...
Nash: What's your point?
Sam: Well, the point is, that usually by this point in the story, the guys would forget what they're angry about and they'd kind of wander away.
Nash: Yeah, well, l, l, uh... I guess this isn't the right time or place.
Woody: Yeah, you're right.
Sam: All right, there you go. Very good, very good. Now why don't you just go back to the bar here, Woody.
Woody: Will you tell me the rest of the story later, Sam?

Frasier: The only thing missing now is a fine cigar.
Norm: Well, allow me. Carla, three of your finest Tampas, please.
Carla: You got it, gentlemen. Look at these beauties. That'll be 45 cents.
Frasier: Carla, we asked for a cigar, not this flammable bratwurst.
Norm: Come on, Fras, these are pretty tasty.
Cliff: Yeah, and they outlast the others by what, a good, eight or nine hours.
Norm: Cliffie, make a smoke ring go around my head the way you do.

Kelly: Oh, hi. I hope I'm not too late. I heard my boyfriend was coming here to fight that nice bartender.
Carla: Fight?! I've had sneezes that lasted longer.