Dr. Finch-Royce: Sam, a little of your history, please.
Sam: Oh, right, all right. Okay, uh... Let's see, uh, it was, uh, August 5, 1973. l, uh, got my first major league save. It was in Baltimore.
Diane: Sam, you don't have to go into all of that.
Sam: If you can go back to the womb, I can go back to the damn Oriole doubleheader. Anyway, uh sweltering day. Frank Robinson had been killing me all season, but this day... [time lapse] I'm telling you it happened every single time.
Dr. Finch-Royce: Which means that, no matter what town you were in, these women would just hang around outside your locker room? I mean, complete strangers, and-and throw themselves at you?
Sam: Yeah. [whispering] It was great.

Diane: This will only take a moment. You know, you're a very clever man. It wasn't until after you'd left that we realized you were merely testing our resolve. So we stand before you now as proof we are steadfast in our devotion to one another.
Dr. Finch-Royce: Well, that's very lovely, but it wasn't a test.
Diane: Oh, listen to him, Sam. It's yet another test.
Dr. Finch-Royce: I'm afraid I haven't made myself sufficiently clear. Um... You two are an accident waiting to marry.
Diane: Well, you couldn't be more wrong. If you only knew the enormous obstacles we've overcome, you would know that we are destined to die in each other's arms. Because, although we are very different people, our parts mesh together perfectly. We have achieved symbiosis.
Sam: Well, not every time, but it's close.

Sam: All I'm saying is maybe he's right. Maybe we should give it some thought. Maybe we should wait. Maybe I'm a confirmed bachelor.
Diane: Maybe you'll do me the honor of sticking a sock in it.
Frasier: I take it it didn't go so well.
Diane: He claims it wasn't a test. If you ask me, his methods are highly suspect. How can he say that we are mismatched on the basis of two silly questions. I didn't even answer mine accurately. I said what I thought he wanted to hear. Sam, did you answer the way you wanted to answer or the way you thought he wanted you to answer? Or the way you thought I wanted you to answer?
Sam: I don't know, I got confused after the babe in the bikini walked by.

Dr. Finch-Royce: Oh, I wondered what was keeping you. I was beginning to get worried.
Sam: Did we get you out of the shower?
Dr. Finch-Royce: No, no, no, no, the, uh, the soup was so hot it set off the sprinkler system.
Diane: Sam and I have been to the library and we've done extensive research. We're here to tell you that you are full of rubbish.
Dr. Finch-Royce: How thoughtful. Most people would only have phoned.
Diane: Now, if you'll just examine the parts that I have marked-
Dr. Finch-Royce: I think I've shown remarkable restraint so far, but I have had just about enough of this. Now, I've said that you're not compatible and you have done nothing to show me otherwise.
Diane: Look, I don't know what we're supposed to do or what we're supposed to say, but we're here, fighting for our lives together. Now doesn't that count for something?
Dr. Finch-Royce: No.

Dr. Finch-Royce: Well, let me answer you this way: Sam, do you really want to be here?
Sam: No.
Diane: Oh, what do you mean "no"?
Sam: I mean no. I don't want to be here. I mean, this whole thing was your stupid idea. What do we care if this guy doesn't think we should get married? Nobody we know thinks we should get married. We don't go bugging them in the middle of the night, do we?
Diane: All right, what do you suggest we do?
Sam: Nothing.
Diane: Oh! That's your solution to everything: nothing! Is that what you're going to do for the rest of your life: nothing?
Sam: I haven't decided yet.
Dr. Finch-Royce: [closes the door] I've grown to hate them.

Woody: Hot dog!
Sam: What's up?
Woody: They just delivered my new mattress. Finally, a decent night's rest. Now all I got to do is figure out what to do with my old mattress. Any suggestions?
Sam: Well, mine's in the Smithsonian.
Woody: Oh, will they send a truck?

Sam: Hey, Frasier! The usual?
Frasier: Oh, not just yet. I'm meeting a friend for a drink. Simon Finch-Royce.
Sam: Mm.
Diane: Dr. Simon Finch-Royce, the noted marriage counselor?
Frasier: No, Dr. Finch-Royce, the circus geek.
Diane: Ah.

Frasier: It's good to see you, Simon. Uh, how was your flight? All right?
Dr. Finch-Royce: Oh, relatively crash-free.
Frasier: Can I buy you a drink?
Dr. Finch-Royce: Yes, a pint of beer, but none of that weak-kneed American bile. Give me, uh, a little something with hair on it.
Carla: Here I am. So, uh, you married?
Dr. Finch-Royce: Yes, quite happily.
Carla: Too bad. Could've been my first Englishman. No, no, no, wait, there was that one other guy, but he was so white, I kept losing him in the sheets.
Dr. Finch-Royce: Do we know her?
Frasier: Yes, that's Carla.
Dr. Finch-Royce: Have her scrubbed and sent to my tent.

Frasier: Oh, Simon, Simon, this is strictly professional. I want you to bill me for this.
Dr. Finch-Royce: Oh, right.
Frasier: Yes. And I do want you to completely disregard our years and years of friendship when determining your fee.
Dr. Finch-Royce: Oh, well, whatever you say.
Frasier: Look, I mean it, now. l- l'll hear nothing of that 40% psychiatrist's courtesy discount that's customary here in the States.
Dr. Finch-Royce: I wouldn't dream of insulting you.
Frasier: Well, I'm glad we worked that out.

Dr. Finch-Royce: You two should not only not get married, you should never see each other again.
Diane: What?!
Dr. Finch-Royce: Well, I'm sorry to be so blunt, but sometimes a surgeon has to cut in order to cure.
Sam: Whoa. What's the problem?
Dr. Finch-Royce: Well, would that there were only one, but there are so many.
Sam: Oh, yeah, yeah, I see what you mean.
Dr. Finch-Royce: I mean first of all, and most obviously, you have absolutely nothing in common. Then, on top of that, you have an appalling lack of communication.
Diane: What about the idea that opposites attract?
Dr. Finch-Royce: Ah, the song of the truly desperate. Well, take it from take it from one who has observed dozens of failed marriages, the only thing that opposites attract is divorce.
Sam: Well, don't- Wait a minute, don't go. What shall we do?
Dr. Finch-Royce: Well, think yourselves lucky. I mean, you found out now. Saved yourself years, perhaps decades, of pain and heartache. Cheerio.