Norm: [enters] Good afternoon, everybody.
All: Norm!
Coach: What'll you have, Normie?
Norm: A 1929 Lafitte Rothschild, Coach. Or a beer, whatever everyone's having.

Cliff: Hey, Norm, we haven't heard much lately about your quest to sire an heir for the old throne. So how goeth the baby-making?
Norm: Not good. Vera thinks it's my fault she's not pregnant. Says I'm not trying hard enough.
Cliff: Well, I hope before you answered intemperately, you took into account her frustration in the maternal instinct department.
Norm: No, I said, "Drop dead in a ditch."
Cliff: Perfect.
Norm: I used to think that sleeping was the greatest pleasure you could have in bed. Now I'm sure of it.
Larry: Hey, Norm, what's the matter? Why don't you like having sex with your wife?
Norm: We're not exactly what each other wants in a sexual partner, you know. For example, she wishes I looked a little more like Charles Bronson. And I wish she looked a little less like Charles Bronson.

Sam: I'm sorry. I did the best I could when I was with you. I mean, you're right, I have blind spots and I'm not a very good boyfriend, but I never tried harder with any woman in my life. I mean, we had some bad times, but I'll tell you, the good times with you were some of the best of my life.
Diane: That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.
Sam: Diane, I-
Diane: No, Sam, stop. I want to get out of here before you say something stupid that ruins it. No, no, now stop. Don't ruin it.
Sam: I'm not gonna ruin it.
Diane: Ssh. Ssh. Ssh.
Sam: [to himself] Oh, yeah, that woulda ruined it. Oh, would it ever!