Sam: OK, one more thing here. What do you think is going to make her go to sleep faster, Brahms's "Lullaby" or "The Sounds of Spring Showers in a Rain Forest"?
Cliff: You know, Sammy, that question has plagued mankind since the beginning of time. How to lure to our bed the elusive Morpheus, son of Hypnos, known to the sand dwellers of Rome as Somnus. Now...
Norm: If you really want to put her to sleep, Sam, record him.

Frasier: Gents, mind my Corona with lime, will you? I've got to see a man about an equine.
Woody: There goes one elegant guy.
Norm: Yeah. Nothing says class like a chunk of fruit floating in your beer.
Cliff: Oh, come on, Norm. It's yuppie nouveau to have a little fruit floating in your beer.
Norm: Call me old fashioned, Cliff, the only thing I like floating in beer is my liver.

Carla: If I were Rebecca, I guarantee this would work. Somehow you get me to go to sleep.
Sam: Go on. Go on.
Carla: All right. Now, you sneak into the room, wait until I'm dreaming about you. You're going to know when that is because of the moaning and rolling around.
Sam: "Moaning," "rolling," good, good.
Carla: When I'm just at my most receptive, if you get my drift, you lay a kiss on me that will melt diamonds. I wake up, but I think I'm still dreaming, so I don't resist, and then we make hot and sloppy till the cops arrive.
Sam: Carla, you're a genius. Rebecca's going to go for this in a big way.
Carla: The hell with Rebecca. It was my idea.

Sam: I'm going to go get some stuff to help her go to sleep. Woody, cover for me, will you?
Woody: You got it, Sam.
Carla: Yeah. Woody, would you cover for me, too?
Woody: Where are you going?
Carla: Home. I just remembered I left something turned on.
Woody: What?
Carla: Me.

Sam: [whispers] Rebecca. Mmm. Rebecca, this is your recurring dream. How does it start again?
Rebecca: [grabs Sam's neck] What are you doing in here?
Sam: I'm not here. I'm in your dream. Go back to sleep. Go back to sleep.
Rebecca: You know. You know. How do you know about my dream?
Sam: What dream?
Rebecca: Oh, man, I hate you. I hate you! You didn't tell your stupid friends about this, did you?
Sam: Oh, please, give me some credit, will you?
Rebecca: You told them! I hate you for knowing. I hate you for telling your friends. I hate you for being in my dreams! I hate my dreams! I hate myself for dreaming my dreams.
Sam: Hey, then smack yourself for a while!

Rebecca: Don't you understand what I'm trying to say? I was taught to win, to strive, to achieve. I was taught to never ever settle.
Sam: Sweetheart, how do you explain working in this bar for the last three years?
Rebecca: Has it been that long? [sobs]
Sam: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That was a low blow. I know settling stinks, but there are a lot of things that are worse, like never taking a chance, always waiting for something better to come along. What if something doesn't come?
Rebecca: It will.
Sam: Sweetheart, when was the last time you had a close relationship with a man?
Rebecca: What do you mean by close?
Sam: Close.
Rebecca: [scoffs] Oh, yeah, like, if you mean close, close, close, well, that would've been just right before I started working here.
Sam: Three years ago.
Rebecca: [sobs] Has it been that long?

Lilith: So who is it... Mel Gibson? Harrison Ford? That young man with the wavy brown hair and the leg muscles who comes in here all sweated up after bowling and has nodded hello to me twice?
Rebecca: It's Sam.
Lilith: Sam Malone?
Rebecca: Can you believe it? He's the last person I would want to see in my dreams. I mean, I played Donald Trump's board game, I watch Ted Turner's network, I just finished Robin Colcord's new book, and somehow in my dreams, I end up dancing on my back with Sam Malone.

Rebecca: God... I don't believe this. Look at what I'm dreaming about! A bartender in an off-the-rack shirt with a button missing.
Sam: It's not missing. I always keep it unbuttoned so I can scratch my stomach.
Rebecca: Oh, God! God. You know, I used to dream about being swept away by some rich, powerful, successful man. And now, even in my dreams, I'm settling for a stomach scratcher.
Sam: Hey, rich people scratch.

Rebecca: Oh, god, Sam, maybe you're right. Maybe my dreams are right. I mean, what the hell, I mean, it's not like the Donald Trumps and Robin Colcords of the world are exactly beating down my door. All right, Sam, I'm going to do it. I'm going to take the plunge. You and I are going to take a shot at it.
Sam: All right. OK. What do you say l, uh, pick you up around 8:00?
Rebecca: Pick me up now. [kisses Sam]
Sam: Mmm. Hoo! Boy, I like the way I pick you up. So, come on, tell the truth. Isn't this better than waiting around for some Mr. Wonderful to come walking through the door? Huh?
Robin: [enters] Oh, sorry to interrupt. I'm looking for Rebecca Howe.
Sam: What?
Rebecca: Robin Colcord.
Robin: Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.
[Rebecca pushes Sam onto her desk chair and back into the stock room. Boxes of beer fall on Sam's head and an open bottle of spirit pours down on Sam.]
Robin: Have I caught you at a bad time?
Rebecca: No... You caught me just in time.

Rebecca: Oh, Sam, yes, yes. Yes!
[wakes up:]
Rebecca: No! Oh. Oh, god. It was just a dream. It's just a dream, Beck-Beck. It's just a dream.
Sam: [enters] Morning, boss.
Rebecca: You shut your fat face right now!
Sam: I was just going to tell you if you want me, I'm out fixing the window.
Rebecca: I don't want you. I don't want you at all.
Sam: Aw, somebody got up on the wrong side of bed.
Rebecca: Don't you use the word "bed" with me. I forbid you to use the word "bed."
Sam: Sorry.
Rebecca: You make me sick.
Sam: Last time I buy after shave at a gas station.