Niles: Oh, Frasier, give him a break. If he backpedals any faster, he'll trip over his walker.

Niles: Frasier? I was just thinking, what if no-one bids? What if you're left standing there, with flop sweat trickling down your back, amidst a great, gaping silence.
Martin: It'll never happen, Niles.
Frasier: Thank you, Dad.
Martin: Yeah, we got a band.

Frasier: My God! The estrogen levels are off the charts out there.
Bulldog: Yeah, isn't it great? I mean, deep down, chicks are just like guys. We all want the same thing.
Frasier: Well, I've got news for them: Frasier Crane does not put out. All they're getting for their little donation is a well-prepared gourmet meal and a handshake at the door.
Bulldog: Boring! My date gets a stretch limo, moon roof, dinner, floor seats at the Sonics game and these incredible buns of steel. Feel 'em, doc. Come on, feel 'em!

Martin: You know son, I haven't had a chance to tell you how much I appreciate this. You know, having somebody like you in the auction really adds class.
Frasier: My pleasure, Dad.
Martin: Now, if the bidding gets slow, drop a quarter and take a couple of minutes to pick it up.

Frasier: That's my new owner. She's a model.
Bulldog: No kidding. She almost put my eye out.

Kristina: I hope you didn't go to too much trouble?
Frasier: Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
Kristina: You rented a restaurant trolley.
Frasier: No, no, I own it. Don't tell me that you don't have one?

Frasier: Flake or not, you are in my charge. You should have something nutritious. Now, how about seafood crepes? Lobster Newburg? Corndog dipped in curare?

Frasier: You don't care much for your mother, do you?
Renata: Well, duh.
Frasier: You know, I have a son. I'd hate to think by the time he's your age, he thinks of me as some sort of, um-
Renata: Dweeb?
Frasier: Thank you.
Renata: Brace yourself.

Frasier: Well now, Renata, you know, I am a psychiatrist. And, um, if you're having problems with your mother I'd be glad to listen.
Renata: You mean you want me to tell you all my problems like those gomers on your show? Like you care.
Frasier: I do care about the gomers. I even care about you.
Renata: Don't make me hurl! [Frasier gives up]

Renata: She keeps telling people I'm younger than I am.
Frasier: Why do you think she does that?
Renata: So they won't know how old she is. I've been nine for the past three years.
Frasier: Really?
Renata: That's nothing. Once, she promised to take me ice-skating for my birthday? On the way there she saw a tattoo parlor, so she just left me out on the sidewalk 'til she could get a stupid butterfly tattooed on her shoulder. It's like she forgot I was even out there.
Frasier: My God! How old were you?
Renata: That was the first time I was nine.