Carla: I'm not kidding, Sammy. I've- I've gone over two years now without having a kid. Now that's a record for me. I'm not taking any chances. I was gonna stay home, turn off the lights, lie down but the cable man's coming over.
Sam: Sweetheart, I promise you, I won't let anybody put the moves on you, okay?
Carla: Oh, no, you don't understand, Sammy. It's not them, it's me. When the mercury hits 95, I can't be responsible for my actions.
Sam: Oh.
Cliff: Oh! Who is that hunk over there in the uniform with the cute buns? Oh, my God, it's Clavin! Oh, this is, this is worse than I thought. Has he always had that mustache? Iced coffee will cool me down.

Cliff: What's the matter, Wood?
Woody: I don't get The Far Side.
Cliff: Woody, come on. Hand it over here. Come on. Let's have a look. Okay, Wood, now you see here in the first panel, the cows are standing on their hind legs, right? The second panel, when the car goes by, they're acting like normal cows.
Norm: See, the idea here is, Wood, that, uh, you know, cows only act like cows when, when we're around. Other times they act like people. Now, does that- Does that help you clear it up a little bit for you?
Woody: I just meant I don't get The Far Side in my newspaper at home, but thanks for treating me like a one-year-old.

Cliff: Anybody seen my gum? Left it around here somewhere.
Norm: What'd you take your gum out for?
Cliff: To give my mouth a rest, you know.
Frasier: Dear Diary, today it finally happened.
Norm: Wood, can I have another... Oh! Cliff, I think I found your gum. This is a new jacket, too, man.
Frasier: Well, Norm, you know, might I suggest that you ice it and then try to scrape the bulk of it off with a razor blade, and maybe that way you can save it.
Cliff: Oh, no, that's okay, Frasier. I was about to get a new piece anyway.
Norm: Sounds like a lot of work, Frasier, I don't know.
Frasier: Well, alternatively, you could wait several years for the resins to break down, the gum to harden and fall off by itself.
Norm: [lifts his arm to drink his beer] I seem to have my full range of movement. I can wait.

Sam: Ha. What's with the getup?
Carla: It's Indian summer, Sam. I need these clothes for protection.
Sam: Protection from what?
Carla: The eyes of men.
Sam: What are you talking about?
Carla: Every time I've conceived a kid it's been during Indian Summer. That's when I'm at my most fertile, Sammy. I cannot let any man touch me, talk to me or see me, or I'll be shooting out kids like a Pez dispenser.

Rebecca: I just hope the rag magazines don't find out that I am the mystery woman. Who am I kidding? Those bloodhounds will ferret me out the first chance they get. But at least I have my dignity. Well, I'm off to change the blue stuff in the toilet bowls.

Frasier: Well, Rebecca, don't be upset. I mean, she's actually doing you a favor. You're off the hook. The press is going to tear her apart and leave your relationship with Robin unsullied.
Rebecca: I guess you're right. I mean, the only thing that really does matter is that, that I am Robin's true love. And it actually makes it more romantic because we're the only ones who know.
Norm: Yeah, except for us.
Woody: And I kind of told my mom in Hanover.
Rebecca: You know what I mean. It's sort of like a secret valentine between me and Robin.
Norm: And us.
Woody: And my mom.
Rebecca: Woody, who cares if your mother knows? I mean, who is she going to tell?
Woody: Are you serious? She has choir practice tonight. Once she gets a cup of coffee in her, those old biddies will bleed it out of her. For a moist crumb cake, she'll tell anybody why you never see Uncle Willie and Aunt May in the same room at the same time.
Norm: Why, uh, why would that be, Wood?
Woody: I don't see any crumb cake.

Frasier: My God. It's another scorcher out there. I am sick and tired of peeling patients off of my leather couch. I'll tell you, the ones in shorts scream like banshees when I get them up fast. Well, fortunately, I'm a trained psychiatrist and I've learned to tune out cries for help.

Sam: When I was pitching for the Sox. Yeah, sure, fame has its perks. I mean, you don't have to stand in line at restaurants. That's very nice. And cops let you slide on a few traffic tickets. That's that's very nice. Autographs, I mean, that's cool and all of that. But, basically, it's just a hassle.
Rebecca: Really?
Sam: Yeah, sure. Not being famous is ten times better.
Rebecca: Really?
Sam: Yeah. Yeah, you get treated just like everybody else. You can go to the supermarket in peace. Nobody crowds around you. As a matter of fact, they don't pay any attention to you at all. No, they certainly don't let you cut ahead of them in the ten-items-or-less line. No, no, no, no, no, no. You have to wait behind all the old ladies. Some of them have way beyond ten items. 'Cause believe me, you've got all the time in the world to count every little can, every little loaf of bread.
Rebecca: Sam.
Sam: By the time you get to the front of the line, they're only too happy to cut up your credit cards right in front of your face because you're nothing!
Rebecca: Sam. Sam, are you all right?
Sam: I miss it so much, Rebecca.
Rebecca: Oh, I know you do. But we're both better off without it, Sam.
Sam: Do you remember- Remember all the attention I got when that truck almost hit me?

Norm: Oh, every time we turn on Robert Vaughn's Amazing Discoveries, we always get the hair-loss episode. I mean, it's like they, they never did any others.
Frasier: Well, listen, we don't have to watch an infomercial. We can choose from any of 60 wonderful cable stations here. Well, there's Lyle Waggoner talking about impotence. Oh, people trying to whiten their yellow teeth. Singing in the Rain. Oh, how to buy real estate with no money down.
Norm: Wait, wait, wait, you just passed by one of the all-time classics, Frasier. Put it back on the yellow teeth one.

Rebecca: Don't bother, Sam. I've seen the article. It's just a stupid, pitiable act of a desperate woman. Those letters are not real.
Frasier: They never are.
Rebecca: Robin did not type those letters. I have seen his typewriter. He doesn't even use that font...
Woody: [answers phone] Cheers. Oh, hi, Mom. It's for me. Um, yeah, yeah, I- I saw the article. Miss Howe says it's not even his font. What? No, Mom, font isn't a bad word. No, it's not... All right. Okay.
[After Woody hangs up the phone, Sam hands him a bar towel as he walks away]
Woody: Thanks a lot, Miss Howe.