T.H. Houghton: How could I be so blind? I lifted the entire structure from Dante.
Niles: Oh, you mean you weren't going for that.
T.H. Houghton: Of course not. This confirms my worst fear. I have nothing original left to say. I'm an empty shell. I was a fool to think I had a second book in me. "The winters were harsh on the farm." Well,
here's something to warm them up. [starts throwing the pages into the fire]
Martin: What's going on here?
T.H. Houghton: You're both right. I'm a talentless hack who got lucky once.
Frasier: Dad, we didn't say that.
Martin: Hey, you're not listening to these two, are you?
T.H. Houghton: Look at this trash. It won't even burn.
Frasier: Well, it's a fireplace, you see. It's not well ventilated.
T.H. Houghton: This book doesn't belong in a fireplace. It belongs in the gutter with the rest of society's garbage. [T.H. Houghton goes out and throws his book off the balcony] I want to thank you two. If I had published that book my reputation would have been destroyed. At least now I'm left with a shred of dignity. [He walks out with a page stuck to his shoe]