Cliff: Boy, oh, boy. Don't you just love this Yorkshire pudding, Ma? That's a real delicacy.
Esther Clavin: The English didn't think so. Actually, Yorkshire pudding was invented in the late 1770s during a beef shortage. A person could be given a little bit of beef and soak up the gravy with the pudding, thereby fooling his stomach into thinking he was having a fuller dinner than he actually was.
Cliff: And you wonder why nobody asks us out anymore.

Frasier: Good afternoon, everybody. Sam, you got you room for one more tosspot? Let me have a beer, will you?
Sam: You betcha. How you been there, Frasier?
Frasier: Well, you know how it is for a psychiatrist this day and age. Divorces, hopelessness over financial situations, rampant paranoia... Thriving, never better.

Cliff: It wouldn't surprise me one bit if it was Rebecca.
Sam: I don't know.
Cliff: No, I mean, it's us quiet, reserved types who, when properly stimulated, turn into your average churning hunk of burning funk.
Norm: Now, Cliffie, uh, can you tell me exactly at what point in your life you came to that big fork in the road where reality took a left and you hung a sharp right?

Rebecca: I was living in a women's dorm on campus...
Sam: Mm-hmm.
Rebecca: ...and one night a fire broke out.
Sam: Ah.
Rebecca: Well, I didn't have time to change my clothes, so I had to run out to the parking lot wearing only a teddy; black, but see-through. All of a sudden, I was caught in this fire engine's headlights. I didn't know what to do. I looked all around, and suddenly, I spotted this open convertible. I climbed in, and I slunk down to the backseat. Suddenly, this hulking fireman was standing over me. He was magnificent. I looked in his eyes. I knew what he wanted, and I wanted it, too. I peeled off his black rubber raincoat. He ripped off my teddy. I can still feel the heat on my flesh. But it wasn't the fire, it was us. When it was over, I opened my eyes, and I noticed we weren't alone. Others had watched and not said a word. And that's why I'm known as "Backseat Becky." Satisfied?
[Sam nods and goes into the men's room]
Rebecca: Thanks for the story, Carla. Here's your ten bucks.
Carla: Yeah, the $20 one would have killed him.
Carla: So wait a minute. Wait a minute. Why do they call you "Backseat Becky"?
Rebecca: That will cost you a hundred.
Carla: Hey, you know, you're kind of a pig. Maybe we can be friends.

Esther Clavin: Oh, I'd forgotten this one. This has got to be the handsomest picture of you I ever laid eyes on.
Cliff: Which? Oh, Ma, come on. My ears are even covered with acne.
Esther Clavin: I'm your mother, Clifford. I'm looking at your soul.
Cliff: Ah, there's me sliding down the old banister.
Esther Clavin: I always thought you spent entirely too much time doing that.
Cliff: Eh. Eh, it was fun.

Cliff: Well, uh, interestingly enough, Yorkshire pudding was invented in the 1700s during a beef shortage.

Cliff: Ah, Ma, but after all we've been through together. Just last night you were saying how much the house meant to you.
Esther Clavin: Last night I was poor. Tonight I'm not. I never thought I'd have the chance, but now I can go to Florida.
Cliff: Florida? Oh, for crying out loud. Who'd ever want to live in that stinkhole?

Norm: Let's just concentrate on the, uh, left side, okay?
Carla: Yeah.
Norm: We have a boy. No, no, wait, wait. It's a girl. It's a boy again. This is weird. All right, maybe it's a girl. I... I...
Cliff: Still trying to figure out what Carla is, huh?
Carla: No, Cliff, we're trying to find out what sex my babies are. See, if the ring goes back and forth, it's a boy. If it goes around in a circle, it's a girl. And if it just dangles there doing nothing, it's a Clavin.

Woody: I can tell you something we used to, uh, do on the farm. We'd take a fresh laid chicken egg and we'd put on a spoon and hold it over the woman's stomach. If it dipped down, it was female, if not, male.
Norm: So how often did you predict the sex of the babies?
Woody: Never. This was to predict the sex of the chicken. All right, you take a spoon, right?

Esther Clavin: Clifford, I'm doing this as much for you as I am for myself. You're 39 years old. It's time to cut the cord.
Cliff: Ma, I am not leaving that house!
Esther Clavin: Clifford.
Cliff: I am not leaving that house!
Esther Clavin: Well, I'm afraid you're going to have to.
Cliff: Oh! Oh, yeah, fine. Go off by yourself. See how you like it. After a week of cooking your own meals, doing your own dishes, washing your own hair, you'll be back.