Daphne: All I want is a quiet night at home.
Simon: Oh, Stilts, you and I are of one mind. I'll hoist a beer while you get dinner started, and then when our bellies are full and you've done the dishes, we will adjourn to the Winnebago where Mr. Jean Claude van Damme, the "Muscles from Brussels", will ply his trade against the forces of evil.
Frasier: [to Daphne] Ready at eight?
Daphne: Make it seven-thirty.

Niles: Why do you like pygmies so much?
Martin: They're short and they blow darts. What's not to like?

Frasier: To better days. For all of us.
Daphne: Why, what happened to you?
Frasier: Well, I went down to talk to Donny, try to convince him to drop his lawsuit against you. Instead, he's now suing me as well for the part I played in getting you two together.
Daphne: Well, I am so sorry, Dr. Crane. This is turning into such a horrible mess. Not that I expected it to be a bed of roses, mind you, but it's gotten so you're wonder what God-awful calamity's going to befall us all next.
Simon: [entering] Something smells in your elevator. Oh, now it smells in here, too. I'm beginning to think this is not such a ritzy building after all.

Daphne: A wedding reception? For you and Mel?
Niles: It's at the equestrian center. It's nothing major. It's very impromptu. Champagne, cake, we pet the horses, we're out of there by eleven.

Niles: I can explain everything. Tomorrow. It's just a twenty-four hour delay. I switched all the reservations. Dining, dancing, everything. I promise I will make it up to you... pookie. Even I hate that one.

Daphne: [after Niles leaves] But what about our date?
Simon: Now, now, now, Daphne. Don't cry, don't cry. It's all right. This sounds like a job for Braveheart.

Roz: Well, I'm here. Congratulations and all that BS. Where's the bar?
Niles: Roz, what are you doing here?
Mel: I invited her. Your side of the guest list looked a little sparse.
Roz: Well, forgive me if I'm not in the spirit of this - wink, wink — "happy occasion," but I'm in a very crappy mood.
Niles: Are you limping?
Roz: Yeah. I twisted my ankle on the stairs. You know how that happened? I couldn't find the shoes that went with this dress, so I had to wear these stupid three inch spikes. And the "check engine" light on my dash keeps coming on.
Niles: What does that have to do with your ankle?
Roz: Nothing, it just really ticks me off. The bar, the bar! [Niles and Mel both point.] Thank you!

Mel: Niles, this is important. If anyone should ask about the honeymoon, we're flying to Paris, then we're taking the Orient Express to Venice, where we'll spend two weeks at the Mansarda Palazzetto suite at the Cipriani. [Niles stares at her] What's the matter?
Niles: Sounds like a wonderful trip.
Mel: It's not my fault we're not going.
Niles: I know.

Roz: Well, I really feel stupid. I just came on to the guy in the tux. They really should make waiters wear name tags.
Frasier: Oh, yes, Roz. Carrying trays and taking drink orders leaves so much room for ambiguity.

Niles: Well, well, I think it's going pretty well. Don't you? You think anyone's suspicious?
Martin: No, no. It's the greatest phony reception I've ever been to. So, how you holding up, son?
Niles: Oh, well, if I have to stretch my muscles into a smile one more time, I think my face may crack...
Mel: Niles?
Niles: [smiling big] Yes, darling!