Cliff: So, uh, what do you got in there, Woodski?
Woody: Oh, boy. My Aunt Edna's killer fudge brownies.
Cliff: Ooh, killers, huh?
Woody: Yeah, they're called that because the first time my Uncle Ford ever smelled them baking, he came running in from the field and got hit by a combine. He hung on for a few days. At the end, he was just praying to die. Well, eat up, everybody.

Kim: Norman, I pride myself on being a very perceptive person. Now, is something amiss?
Norm: [nods] Yeah. Sam and I have had a tiff.
Robert: Look. Maybe meeting Michael is just the thing you need. I mean, he lives right around the corner. Kim, go call him.
Norm: No. No, no, no, no, no, folks, please. I can't go on with this any longer. Look, I don't care if it costs me the job. I got to tell you the truth, okay? I wanted to be your decorator, so I pretended to be who I thought you wanted me to be, but it's time that I came out of the closet. I'm straight.
Robert: Impossible. [Kim laughs]
Norm: No, no, I- I... Ever since I was a little boy, I've known that I preferred girls. Actually, I'm a guy with a wife. I mean, uh, I sleep with Vera. Well, you know, I sleep next to her. Actually, it's in the room next to her, but, uh, I do keep the door open. [sighs] But the point is, you know, I think you should judge people for what they do, not for who they do.

Carla: You know, speaking of, uh, weight and stuff, I got a riddle. Which is heavier, a pound of Cliff's brain or a pound of dead flies?
Woody: It's a trick question. A pound is a pound. They both weigh the same. Go ahead, ask me another of Mr. Clavin's brain questions.
Carla: Okay, let's see. Uh... [clears throat] if you dropped Cliff's brain and a bowling ball off the top of the Empire State Building...
Woody: Yeah? Yeah?

Woody: Want another beer, Mr. P.?
Norm: Love to, Woody, but I got to get back to painting Frasier and Lilith's place. This is the first job anyone's given me in, like, four months, so I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize it. I'm really making an effort this time to be the kind of dependable professional that I'd like to have working for me. [exits]
Woody: See you, Mr. Peterson.
Norm: [returns] What, Wood?
Woody: I said, I'll see you.
Norm: Well, damn it, Woody. Now you made me late, man. All right, as long as I'm late, I'll just have another beer, I guess.

Cliff: You know, Rebecca, I don't know why you're so, uh, concerned about your figure. You know, back in the Renaissance time, uh, full-figured women were revered.
Norm: Get out.
Cliff: It's true.
Norm: Yeah?
Cliff: Yeah, yeah. Artists would only paint big, voluptuous women. In fact, that's how they got rid of a lot of their old paint.

Lilith: Norm, we had to rush over to tell you.
Frasier: The new window treatment you designed just went up. It is spectacular.
Norm: Are you speaking to another Norm, or do you have a death wish?
Frasier: Beg your pardon?
Norm: Come on, come on. You think I want these people to know I'm an interior decorator?
Lilith: We're sorry, Norm. It's just, we simply cannot moderate our approbation.
Norm: Well, give it a shot, okay?
Lilith: But you should be decorating professionally.
Norm: Oh, no, no, no. Please. Doing you folks a favor was one thing. Any more of this interior decorating junk could really eat into my reputation as a lazy, beer-guzzling lump of mashed potatoes.
Frasier: But, Norm, you have a gift.
Norm: Gift? Try curse, pal. I spent my whole damn life trying to cover up the fact that I have a great sense of color, and I always know where to stick the ottoman.

Norm: Yeah! Damn, I am good. Bring these people on. I'll wipe up the floor with them. Who are they, anyhow?
Frasier: Well, actually, they're friends of friends.
Norm: Yeah?
Lilith: But I have to warn you, they're the essence of the Y word.
Frasier: That's the yuppie word for yuppie.
Norm: Oh.
Lilith: Are you implying that I'm a yuppie?
Frasier: Oh, forgive me, I erred. And if I ever do it again, you may cut out my tongue and serve it to me in a fajita.

Cliff: Okay, okay, look. Cliff's brain is found murdered in a room. All the doors and windows are locked.

Woody: Miss Howe, I don't mean to insult you, but you're looking kind of puny. Have you lost weight?
Rebecca: Is this a setup? Did Sam tell you to say that?
Woody: No, ma'am, I told myself to say it. Yeah, I'm worried about you, you know? If you're not careful, you're going to start wasting away, and pretty soon your ribs will start to show, like this guy back in Hanover, Kyle Lefferts. Of course, he'd been dead awhile when they found him.
Rebecca: Thank you, Woody. That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all week. [kisses Woody on the cheek]
Woody: Your hair's been looking kind of ratty, too.
Rebecca: Unfortunately, that's the second nicest thing.
Woody: What, no kiss?

Norm: What's going on? I'm dying over here.
Frasier: Well, it's not you, Norm, it's them.
Norm: Yeah?
Frasier: They're narrow-minded, trend-sucking dilettantes, who insist that well, their chefs be French, you know, that their mechanics be German, and that their designers be... stylish.
Norm: Ooh. You mean, stylish.
Frasier: Very stylish.
Norm: 'Nough said, Fras.
Frasier: I'm sorry, Norm. This could have been a real lucrative job for you. I don't know what to say.
Norm: That's okay, I do. Um... [sighs] Listen, uh, did I tell you that, uh, last night, I programmed myself to dream about your space?