Frasier: Oh, look, his first smile.
Lilith: Darling face. As much as we would like to believe otherwise, we both know that newborn infants are incapable of revealing emotion through facial expression. It's probably just gas.
Both: Oh, his first gas!

Rebecca: See? This is really going to be big. You know, I'm going to call Mayor Flynn's office and see if they'll designate Cheers a landmark. I just wish I had an in with him.
Cliff: In? Well, I've been corresponding with his Honor for about a year now. Every week, I just write him a little missive. You know, talking about the running of our fair city. You might want to mention my name.
Rebecca: Right, Cliff. And when I speak to President Bush, I'll remember you to him, too.
Cliff: Ah, don't bother. We're not on speaking terms. He forgot to send me a "thank you" for the inaugural fruitcake I sent him.

Frasier: I can't believe we have a son. But, Lilith, when did all this happen?
Lilith: After the doctor discharged me, I looked for you, couldn't find you, so I took a cab. I gave birth in the back seat. The cabbie was nice enough to let me bite down on one of his foam rubber dice.
Frasier: Oh, my precious angel. You were so brave.
Lilith: The only problem was that every time I pushed, my feet kept opening the back door into traffic.
Frasier: The greatest moment of my life, and I missed it. You must want to kill me.
Lilith: Now, Frasier, now is not the time for reproaches. Now is the time to rejoice. The reproaches can come tomorrow and for the next 50 years.
Frasier: Is it any wonder I love you so?

Rebecca: The point is, this is our centennial. Cheers is 100 years old.
Pete: Hang on here. Isn't there a sign outside that says "established in 1895"?
Sam: No, don't pay any attention to that. I made that number up.
Rebecca: You what?
Sam: That was back when Carla was into that number stuff.
Carla: You mean the science of numerology, Sam. You see, boss, if you take 1-8-9-5 and you reduce it, you come out to 5. Whereas, 1-8-8-9 comes out to 8. And 5, for me, is obviously a much luckier number than 8.
Norm: Wait, wait, wait. Now, you have 8 children.
Carla: Exactly, and I should've stopped at 5.

Rebecca: Sam, the quartet is very, very important. I want everything to be just like it was at the turn-of-the-century.
Barbershop Quartet: [sing] Wait till the sun shines, Nelly and the clouds go drifting by...
Sam: Just knock it off, will you?
Rebecca: Sam!
Sam: Oh, come on. That kind of stuff has been getting on people's nerves for 100 years. It's time somebody did something about it. No offense.

Frasier: Darling, Sam just told me. Are you feeling any discomfort?
Lilith: Whoa!
Frasier: I'll take that as a yes. I'll go pull the car around. We'll be at the hospital in no time. Say, Woody, would you help her with her Lamaze?
Woody: What's Lamaze?
Frasier: Oh, Woody, there's no time for that now. All right... Very briefly. It's a psycho-prophylactic relaxation method. It was discovered by the great, late Dr. Fernand Lamaze while on a trip to Russia. It was later perfected...
Lilith: Holy mother of pearl!
Frasier: Well, just go hoo hoo hoo, hee hee hee.

Woody: No, no, looky here. I got this great big Boston history book. As near as I can figure, this place was originally called "Moms".
Rebecca: "Moms." You know, I bet Mom was some twinkly little old lady, and all the whalers used to come in here and order her homemade apple pie.
Woody: Well, no. Actually, Mom was an aging ex-fan dancer who provided free room and board to attractive, newly-arriving immigrant groups.
Rebecca: Woody, please say, "yank, yank."
Woody: No, it says so here. You know, this actually reminds me of a cute little old place they had back in Hanover.
Rebecca: Woody, you've got the wrong idea.
Woody: Yeah, you're probably right. That place back in Hanover was a whorehouse.

Rebecca: Sam, why do I always have to learn everything from the newspaper? Look at this column.
Sam: "On this day in Boston's history." Yeah? So? I mean, they run this column every day. It tells what happened 10 years ago, 50 years ago. What are we looking for, the last time you had sex?
Carla: No, no, no. This only goes back a hundred years.
Rebecca: Why are you all so interested in my sex life?
Sam: Well, somebody has to be.

Sam: Oh, hey, look at that. Did you see this, Rebecca?
Rebecca: Duh.
Sam: "100 years ago today, a new tavern opened at 112 1/2 Beacon street."
Cliff: Wait, wait. A mailman never forgets an address. Why is 112 1/2 Beacon Street sending a message to my brain?
Carla: Probably because you're sitting on it.
Cliff: Carla, I hate it when you make those sitting-on-my-brain jokes.
Norm: No, no, no. Uh, Cliffy, she meant 112 1/2 Beacon Street. That's Cheers' address. You're sitting here.
Carla: No, I was making a Cliff-sitting-on-his-brain joke.
Cliff: See, I told you. Thank you, Carla.

Lilith: Frasier, the child will be born when the child is ready to be born.
Cliff: Well, enjoy your freedom, Lilith. 'Cause once you've gone through the unspeakable horror of childbirth and the painful drudgery of parenthood, you'll spend the rest of your life wishing you'd sold the little brat to the gypsies.
Carla: How would you know?
Cliff: Ah, that's what Ma tells me.