Frasier: You know, I've never really won anything before. Although back in prep school, the Existentialist Club once named me "Most Likely To Be."

Frasier: So, where's Maris?
Niles: Well, we were just getting ready to leave the house, when Maris got a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror-
Frasier: Niles, at the end of this story, will I roll my eyes?
Niles: I did.
Frasier: Well then, just skip it.

Niles: Yes, well. This has been delightful, but I really must run. I'm due at my sexual addiction group, and I don't like to leave them alone for too long.

Frasier: So, this, ah, this is quite a surprise, you know. Actually I'd, uh, forgotten that the nominations were coming out today.
Bebe: Oh, isn't he precious? You must be very proud of Frasier.
Niles: Well, actually ... no. This nomination is just one more signpost on the low road of celebrity which my brother has chosen for himself.
Frasier: Hope that's not sibling rivalry rearing its vicious little green snout?
Niles: Absolutely not. I'm still in the minority who still believes that psychiatry is a noble profession that is tarnished by such things as popularity contests, not to mention a bouncy little radio program.
Bebe: I bet you two had wicked little hair-pulling fights when you were tots.

Bebe: I have to tell you that the buzz in line was that all those lovely gifts you've been sending have really paid off. It looks like you're in a neck-and-neck race with Fletcher Grey, that wrinkled old warhorse. [notices Martin] Hello, Mr. Crane. You're even more handsome than the last time I saw you. If I were twenty years older they couldn't keep me away from you.
Martin: That's why I keep this cane.

Martin: Wendy Ashiro's up against you for this award? Oh, I like her, she's a cutie.
Frasier: You're not suggesting we put our own ad in this thing?
Roz: Frasier, we're falling behind. Mike Sanchez has already sent out tapes of his show.
Martin: Mike Sanchez? Oh, I like him.
Roz: And who knows what Fletcher Grey's doing?
Martin: Fletcher Grey?
Frasier: Thank you, Dad!

Martin: That Fletcher Grey, he's aces. Would you believe he remembered me from 1968?
Frasier: No!
Martin: Yeah, I was working on a murder case he was covering. He just looked at me and said, "Hey, you're the guy who found the head."

Frasier: Just remember, Angela, cosmetic surgery is only a superficial solution. You can lift your eyelids, but it can't lift that little cloud of pessimism that hovers over you. Thank you for your call.

Niles: And then she said she'd been seeing someone else. She couldn't keep living a lie. I was dumbfounded. I mean, what about everything we'd gone through together? Didn't that mean anything to her?
Frasier: Niles, a patient has a right to change therapists.

Frasier: Daphne, you may not be aware of this, but there is a special secret to opening a bottle of champagne, especially a fine French champagne as unprepossessing as this one, two hundred dollars a bottle. In order to prevent spillage, one does not simply twist out the cork. Instead, one holds the cork stationary, you see, and then gives the bottle three easy turns. One... [The cork flies out and champagne gushes everywhere] Oh, God. Oh, no, get some glasses!