Sam: Anyway, I gave her the day off so she could just go home and cool out, you know.
Frasier: Well, very often that's the best thing you can do when you're not getting along with a family member. Remove yourself entirely from them. Find some neutral place where you can take the time you need to be away from them.
Norm: You really think so, Fras?
Frasier: Well, that's... That's why we're all here, isn't it?

Carla: Well, the dream is always the same. There's a casket on a slab in an empty room. You walk slowly toward it. Suddenly, the lid flies open.
Norm: You see your own face?
Carla: No, you see these feet, 'cause you're looking at the wrong end. Then, you look upward, and there's your own face, pale and bluish with pennies over your eyes. And that's when you bolt up in bed screaming.
Frasier: Carla, death is an earthly scientific passage predicted by either massive physical injury or progressive bodily deterioration. There is as little validity in a supposed death dream as there is in the cliched image of death itself as a grim, bloodless ghoul whose bony finger reaches out to tap you on the shoulder when your number's up.
Lilith: Frasier, it's time to go.
Frasier: [screams] Don't do that, woman! For God's sakes, put on some blusher.

Carla: [on the phone] If you're lying to me, I'm gonna rip out your slimy, gray tongue. [hangs up]
Norm: Whoa. Sounds kind of serious.
Carla: It's my mother.
Sam: Well, what's the matter with her?
Carla: She had the dream. [gestures with hands]
Sam: What dream's that?
Carla: The death dream. [gestures] Whenever someone in my family has it, you can just start divvying up the jewelry.
Rebecca: What exactly is this death dream? [gestures]
Frasier: Yes, and, uh, why exactly do you always do this [gestures]... when you say, "the death dream?" [gestures]
Carla: You just did it.
Frasier: Carry on.

John: Sam?
Sam: God, I hate it when he says that. What? What? What're you gonna nitpick this time? What, am I mixing my drinks too loud? Am I using the wrong kind of lightbulb? Oh, excuse me, maybe some of my bar air accidentally wafted up to your establishment.
John: Sam, you're on the defensive.
Sam: I'm not on the defensive, and you say that again, I'm gonna pull the last three hairs off your head.
John: Sam, I merely came down to apologize for my intrusive behavior earlier today.
Sam: Really?
John: Yes. I know I'd be resentful if someone implied that I should run my business in a particular way. It was out of line for me to do so with you.
Sam: Oh. Well, thank you. I'm sorry, I am a little defensive.
John: Well, no harm done. In fact, to clear the air, I'd like to buy a round of drinks for everyone here. [cheers] Here you are, Sam. [removes coupon books] I think this should cover it. Oh, and I'd like one of your special martinis I've heard so much about. Oh, I'm out of coupons. Well, then, never mind.

John: Sam, it appears we have a problem. Do you know what this is?
Sam: Yeah. Yeah, it looks like a manicure. Nice one, too. Wait. Is that a Is that clear polish, or are they just buffed?
John: They're just clean.

Rebecca: Sam, that was John Allen Hill on the phone. He's on his way down.
Sam: No, no. I don't want to talk to him. I hate that guy.
Rebecca: Sam, be a good businessman. He's our upstairs neighbor. We have to live together. Just try to be civil to him.
Sam: All right, all right, all right, I'll be good. I'll be good. You know, I get the feeling sometimes he deliberately says things just 'cause he knows it's gonna get under my skin.
John: Sam!
Sam: See? God.

Sam: What are you saying? You saying that you're better than me? That your customers are classier than mine? Well, they're not.
Norm: Hey, Sammy? Will you settle a bet for us, please? Which one of our breaths smells most like tuna? Loser has to go through the spanking machine.
Sam: What do you want me to do, walk over and check?
John: I can tell you from here.
Sam: Oh, yeah, right, right. And none of your customers have fish breath when they come walking out of your restaurant?
John: It's a seafood restaurant, Sam.
Sam: Ah, all right, so you admit it, right? [Norm grunts]
John: Well, looks like the big boy lost.

Norm: Carla, what's the problem? Why are you so upset?
Carla: Oh, I hate family meetings. They're nothing but a bunch of complaining and infighting and bickering and backstabbing. And, of course, sweet little Carla has to play the peacemaker.
Frasier: Well, l, for one, think family meetings can be worthwhile encounters. They encourage open and honest communication among the generations.
Cliff: Did you have them in your family there, Fras?
Frasier: No, I lucked out. My family didn't want to be close.

Sam: How can her mother expect her to name one of her kids after Benito Mussolini?
Rebecca: Well, it could have been worse. What if her father's name had been Adolf?
Norm: Yeah.
Woody: Yeah, and her mother's maiden name could have been Menjou. Phew. She really dodged the bullet there.

Woody: Well, his name is now Benito Mussolini. Call him Gino, for short. Yeah, she sounds so happy. She said that's the first time they've all sat down to a family dinner in years. They ate, they laughed, they even got up and danced. Those Italian families sound so warm.
Frasier: Yeah, I know what you mean, Woody. Gee, I often wish that I was a member of an ethnic group. Oh, it's... Oh, it's just as well. I hate hugging.
Lilith: [enters] Frasier, it's time to go.
Frasier: Boy, I... I sure married the right woman.