Annie: I need a Scotch, rocks, two white wines and a draft.
Woody: Okeydokey.
Annie: Come on, corn cob. Arriba.
Woody: Boy, I tell ya, Annie's getting to be a real pro, huh?
Sam: Yeah, she's sure rattling off those drink orders, huh?
Woody: That's nothing. How about the way she puts me in my place?

Rebecca: You know, you might be right. She's probably just some pathetic little dishrag whose last great hope is working here at Cheers. I got to stop jumping to conclusions.
Laurie: [enters] Excuse me. Is Miss Howe here? Mr. Drake sent me.
Rebecca: Oh, you must be the slut.
Laurie: Excuse me?
Rebecca: Slot. You're here to fill the slot. Welcome to Cheers. Why don't you just follow me in to my office and we'll fill out your W-4 form.
Laurie: Great.
Rebecca: And I'll need a phone number and a job history, and a number we can call in case you meet with some horrible disfiguring accident.

Annie: Sam?
Sam: What?
Annie: Could I ask your opinion as a passionate macho stud horse?
Sam: Sure. I may have to stamp out the answer with my foot, but go ahead.

Sam: What do you want me to do? You want me to talk to him?
Annie: Would you, Sam? Thanks.
Sam: Yeah. Yeah, you're welcome. [Annie kisses Sam on the cheek]
Anthony: Hey, I saw that! [removes beard and hat]
Annie: Anthony! I can't believe you're spying on me.
Anthony: Suddenly, everything makes sense. You're taller than me. You have a Corvette instead of a bus pass. And your hair does that cool blow-dry thing. And now you've got my wife.
Annie: Well, aren't you gonna stay and fight for me?
Anthony: What's the use?
Sam: Hey, Anthony, come on, now, don't...

Annie: Could you believe that? After I gave that man the best 28 months of my life.
Sam: Well, why don't you go catch up with him and patch things up.
Annie: Forget it. He's a wimp and he can't get a job. And his jealousy is ruining our marriage. Not to mention that he left the cap off the toothpaste for, like, the kajillionth day in a row.
Sam: I had no idea that the wounds were so deep.
Annie: Well, as far as I'm concerned, he can just go and... [pulls Sam close] Oh, God! I've just lost the only man I've ever loved.
Sam: Oh, no, wait. Sit here, will ya? Listen, he'll come back. Don't you worry about that. Now, he's not gonna leave a beautiful girl like you.
Annie: You really think so, Sam?
Sam: Oh, absolutely. He'll be right back.
Annie: I mean, do you really think I'm beautiful?

Laurie: See you soon. Bye.
Rebecca: [mocking] "Bye." How dare she put on that sweetness and light when it's so obvious she's nothing more than a sordid little harlot. Hypocrite. [cheerfully] Doing a great job, Laurie. Keep it up!

Sam: But, oh, you, uh, you and Anthony still not talking?
Annie: Talking? I can barely stomach necking with him. He's a wimp. Not like my Sam. Tell me, how do you feel about moonlit walks by the beach and dinner by a roaring fire?
Sam: I hate them.I- I can't stand them. Bleah.
Annie: Yay! Me, too.
Sam: No, no, no. I was kidding. I love them.
Annie: Too late.

Rebecca: You know, you and I really haven't had a chance to get to know each other. What do you like to do in your leisure time?
Laurie: Well, l, uh, I like to read.
Rebecca: In bed?
Laurie: Sometimes.
Rebecca: What else do you like to do in bed?
Laurie: Sleep.
Rebecca: Oh, well. Let, let's imagine here, that you are asleep in bed, and you roll over. Did you fall on the floor, or did something impede your progress?
Laurie: Excuse me?
Rebecca: Oh, nothing. It's must my warped, wonderful, wild sense of humor. By the way, how do you know Evan Drake?
Laurie: Well, he's uh... a friend.
Rebecca: Oh. Well, then maybe you could help me out. I was gonna buy him a gift. Perhaps you know what size he wears in slacks or shirts or jockey shorts.
Laurie: Oh sure, but he doesn't wear jockeys. He wears boxers.
Rebecca: Never mind, then.

Rebecca: I'm gonna pop her. I'm gonna pop her. I'm gonna pop her right in the kisser. I'm gonna pop her! Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop!
Sam: That's good. Now- Now do, uh, bacon frying.

Woody: You know, Darth Vader cannot be Luke Skywalker's father. They don't have the same last name.
Norm: That's right, Woody. [talking through his beer glass] I'd better call out the Imperial Guards. [inhaling and exhaling deeply]
Woody: Stop it, Mr. Peterson. You're scaring me.