Woody: Wait a minute. Let's just stick with this title thing.
Rebecca: No, no, Woody, you said you would settle for a raise. Now, I'm going to hold you to it.
Woody: Oh, no, I blew it! I should have demanded a title. Money gets spent, but titles are forever.
Rebecca: No, Woody, I told you-
Woody: Doggone it, Miss Howe, you're not going to palm some raise off on me. I don't want money. I- I deserve a title.
Rebecca: Woody, I've met some tough negotiators in my life... All right, you deserve it. I'll go to the mat for you. Congratulations. You're the new Senior Bartender.
Woody: Get out! Senior Bartender?! Wait till I tell my folks! To think I came in here asking for a stupid little raise, and now this. I just hope it doesn't go to my head.
Rebecca: Oh, that's what's nice about you, Woody. Nothing ever goes to your head.

Frasier: The thought of my Lilith having one last carnal fling with some fellow in a Speedo is beyond belief!
Norm: Now, Frasier, I mean, just 'cause some guy strips in her honor doesn't mean they're going to wind up in the sack together.
Frasier: Oh, no, no, no, you don't know my Lilith. I'll tell you, once her libido's cut loose, I mean, there's no tying her down. Unless, of course, that's what she's into for the evening.

Rebecca: Uh, Lilith? What do you say we have a little get-together at my place tonight?
Lilith: That would be lovely.
Rebecca: Now, you're gonna have to tell me who to invite, because I don't know... anything about you.
Lilith: I only wish there were some way I could repay you, Rebecca.
Rebecca: Oh, don't mention it.
Lilith: If you ever need to admit a family member to a mental institution, I could certainly speed up the paperwork.
Rebecca: That's very dear of you.

Rebecca: Can you believe it? Her first day on the job and Evan's little tart is late. That's because she knows I can't do anything about it because her lover boy is the big boss. Isn't she just the queen of gall?
Cliff: Oh, no, that was Charlemagne's wife, I think. Well, you know, if memory serves, I think her name was Cathy.

Frasier: Well, l, for one, applaud your desire to shake things up a bit, Cliff. Sometimes I think I'd give anything for a change - no matter how slight - in this deadly, unvarying routine of life.
Woody: What can I get you, Dr. Crane?
Frasier: The usual.

Carla: Champagne, huh?
Lilith: Well, wild romance is a fictive term with no correlation to any actual physiological behavior. We, nevertheless, like to humor convention by going through with these preposterous rituals.
Carla: Champagne, huh?

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?

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.

Sam: So, how come you guys are so chummy, huh?
Norm: Sorry, Sam. Can't talk about it. Kind of private.
Sam: Oh, give me a break. Guys are supposed to talk about girls behind their backs. [Norm swallows hard] Didn't I tell you everything about me and Diane? [Norm shakes his head] Well, now's your chance to thank me.

Sam: Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, that was easy. Wait, uh... Let's try some more compromises here. Um, I want to sleep with you 25 times, but you don't want to sleep with me at all, am I right?
Rebecca: Right.
Sam: Okay, so what's half of 25?
Rebecca: Your l.Q.?
Sam: Wait, uh... please. Um, I'm a little sensitive about people making fun of my intelligence.
Rebecca: I'm sorry.
Sam: That's all right.
Rebecca: But I wasn't making fun of your intelligence.
Sam: Good.
Rebecca: I was making fun of your lack of intelligence.