Woody: Uh, excuse me, folks. We still have the consolation prize to give away. 847 hand-numbered Ping-Pong balls.
Sam: No, Woody, Woody, Woody, man, don't do that.
Woody: All right. And the winner of the Cheers consolation prize is Number 11! [turns the ball upside down] Oh, no, here we go again.
Sam: No, Woody, let me explain something to you.

Woody: Hey, at least mine's a real great title and not a stupid made-up one like yours.
Sam: Hey, mine is not made up.
Carla: Hey, hey, all right, all right, all right, knock it off, all right?! Will the Senior Idiot Bartender and the Executive Supervising Moron shut their yaps for about ten seconds? You're bartenders. That's it. You're a bartender and you're a bartender, period. [goes into Rebecca's office]
Sam: Carla's right. I'm sorry.
Woody: Yeah, me, too.
Carla: [returns] l, however, am the Managing Director of Waitresses.

Cliff: Uh, hey, Woody. A beer, and uh, one for mi compadre here, Normie.
[Norm falls of his bar stool]
Cliff: Are you all right?
Norm: Yeah, no, it's just... Sorry. I thought Cliff was going to buy me a beer.
Cliff: Well, uh, well, I am.
[Norm stumbles again]
Cliff: Hey, hey, Norm, Norm, no, come on, now, knock it off there, will you? Geez.

Cliff: It's just that my annual civil service raise came in today, you know, at three and a half percent, just like clockwork, you know, as if, uh, carrying that bag wasn't honor enough.
Woody: Wow, Mr. Clavin, you got a raise, huh?
Cliff: Yup.
Woody: I've been hoping for a raise for two years now. I haven't gotten diddly.
Cliff: Well, Woody, that is an outrage. You ought to walk right up to Miss Howe, look her square in the eye, and demand diddly. [laughs]
Norm: Ah, tell you what, you work overtime, you get over-diddly, pal.
Cliff: [laughs] And, uh, diddly-and-a-half on weekends... [laughs] and, uh, golden diddly on holidays, too.
Norm: Uh, Cliff? Cliff, the secret is knowing when to stop.

Sam: Oh, man, she conned you. She talked you into accepting a title instead of a raise. I don't believe you.
Woody: Hey, I'd like to see you do better.
Sam: [chuckling] Hey, she may be able to pull the wool over your eyes, but not mine. As a matter of fact, I'll prove it to you. You know, I'm due for a raise around here. Behold the master here. Woody, watch the bar.
Woody: Sam.
Sam: Mm-hmm.
Woody: Considering my new title, I don't think you can just give me orders like that.
Sam: You're right. Please forgive me. Um, I respectfully request permission to ask you to watch the bar, sir.
Woody: Money can't buy that kind of respect.

Woody: So, Sam, how much did you get?
Sam: Well, it's kind of complicated, Woody. It's all tied up with bonuses and stock options. But I can tell you that, uh, you're looking at the new Executive Supervising Bartender.
Norm: Well, congratulations, Sammy. You know, I'd say a promotion like that kind of deserves a round of drinks on the house.
Sam: Nice try, man.

Woody: Miss Howe, I heard about Carla and Sam's new titles, and I must say I've got a problem.
Rebecca: You've got a problem? I'll tell you about problems. I will tell you all about problems. We've been losing money for the last three months. I have just been informed that if we continue to lose money, the bar is going to be put on the block, and then my career will be over, and so will everyone's drinking days here at Cheers. Understood? [door shuts]
Norm: Well... Maybe it isn't exactly my place to say this, but Cheers means about as much to me as it does to anyone here. This is, uh, pretty bad news. I'd say bad news like this deserves a sympathy round of drinks on the house. [off everybody's look] What? Oh, what?!

Cliff: You really don't think we're gonna lose the bar, do you?
Sam: I don't know.
Cliff: I mean, what are we gonna do? Where are we gonna go?
Norm: Home?!
Sam: All right, listen, listen, listen. We- We got to think of some way to drum up business.
Carla: Well, what do you want us to do, force people to drink here? Pour beers down their throats?
Sam: No, Carla.
Norm: Well, don't be hasty, Sam. Let her talk.

Sam: Listen, it'd be perfect. I mean, people would be pouring in here. We'll be out of the red in no time. Come on, let's give it a shot.
Rebecca: All right. Why not? It's a mark of how desperate I am that I'm willing to take any half-baked, hair-brained scheme from a bunch of bozos like this.
Sam: All we ask for is a little faith.

Frasier: Eureka! I have found it. Sam, anything compare to the ebullient feeling one gets having discovered and then purchased a fine work of art?
Carla: Yeah, sticking your foot in a pan of scalding hot water when you got a fungus itch.
Frasier: Well, you may not know art, but you know what you like.