Norm: Poor Cliffie. I really kind of hate to see him suffering like this.
Carla: You know, I think it's about time we had Cliff put to sleep. What? He had a lot of good years.
Norm: There is one way to cheer him up. You know, we could change this letter of rejection to look like a letter of acceptance. It'd be pretty easy, actually.
Carla: So are you just gonna dismiss my putting-him-to-sleep idea? We're not even gonna talk about it?

Cliff: Uh, oh, boy. I was right. She was tickled pink. Yeah, the two places she most wants to see before she goes to the great beyond is Formosa and Burbank.
Norm: Cliffie, there's something I have to tell you, buddy.
Cliff: Oh, wait. Norm, there's something I got to tell you first.
Norm: Well...
Cliff: When I was at the travel agency, I got, uh, three nonrefundable tickets to Burbank. And guess whose name is on the third one.
Norm: [quietly] Please don't let it be Norm Peterson.
Cliff: Norm Peterson!
Norm: I'm going to California! [Norm and Cliff cheering]

Woody: I love working with my hands, don't you, Sam?
Sam: Yeah, Woody, I do. But not with any mechanical stuff.

Esther Clavin: Norman, I want to thank you.
Norm: For what?
Esther Clavin: Well, I know Clifford doesn't have many friends. I remember that surprise birthday party I organized for him and you were the only one who showed up.
Norm: Yeah. Where were you, anyway?
Esther Clavin: I just forgot.

Johnny Carson: [on TV] Esther, how did your son get this joke on in the first place?
Esther Clavin: [on TV] A friend of Clifford's arranged that. In fact he's here tonight. Norman, come on down, and bring my purse. [applause and cheering over television]
[Back in the bar, as everyone watches the TV with mouths agape, Carla drops a tray of glasses]

Sam: Nobody knows for sure, Woody, but that's what I think happens when you die.
Woody: Well, that's great, Sam, especially the part about the Snickers for breakfast.

Sam: Carla, what was your plan again?
Carla: Okay, so we tell him he's getting a flu shot...

Sam: Hey, Cliffie!
Cliff: Hey. Sam, pour me a cold one, will ya? It's been a long day.
Sam: What's the problem, bub?
Cliff: Eh, hard to say, l, uh, just seem to have lost the spring in my step.
Carla: Well, just pull one out of your head.

Sam: Oh, hey, you got a letter from NBC.
Cliff: Aw, forget it. It's just another rejection.
Sam: Oh, come on, now, how do you know that?
Cliff: Aw, Sammy, I'm just a plaything of that fickle maiden known as Miss Comedy. Last night I went down to The Laugh Tureen to gig. Well, they wouldn't let me go on. It was amateur night... they said I wasn't ready.

Cliff: Save your breath. Nothing's gonna do me any good.
Carla: Aw, Cliff, why don't you just go on back and lie down on the pool table. I think there's a game going on.
Cliff: Everybody's a comedian. Everybody except me.