Dr. Sheila Rydell: My professional opinion of you is that your every thought, word and deed revolves around sex. You have nothing else in your life. Without constant sex, you'd probably just shrivel up into a little, dried anchovy and die.
Sam: Well, who wouldn't? I mean, that's it? No bad stuff?
Dr. Sheila Rydell: Sam, there's nothing but bad stuff. You're an aging lothario who uses sex to cover up massive insecurity, a fear of true intimacy, fear of a relationship and quite frankly, not only a fear of dying, but a fear of living, too. You're one sick cowpoke.
Sam: I resent that. You know, you were shoveling down that lobster tonight like there was no tomorrow. You know, you even ate the green stuff and this is the thanks I get?

Carla: Sam.
Sam: Yeah?
Carla: Mr. Cool, I hate to burst your bubble again, but didn't she just shoot you down? Hey, maybe you should just stay away from brunettes. Except me, of course.
Sam: Yeah. No, no, don't you see here? The good doctor and I are sparing. It's sexy, it's fun. Just like one of those old Spencer Tracy-Audrey Hepburn movies.

Sam: So what do you think? Uh... What kind of problem should I make up?
Carla: Well, uh, how about this? I once took one of my kids to the school psychiatrist and he said the kid had kleptomania.
Norm: Anything come of it?
Carla: Got a couple of pens and a leather appointment book.