Daphne: You can come out now.
Frasier: You know, honestly, Daphne, if these interruptions don't stop, my signature sauce will be reduced to a monogram. I'm using humor to make a point.

Frasier: [on the phone] Daphne, you're never gonna get a caterer at this late hour, but don't worry. I think I can solve your little problem. I'll be right there. [hangs up] As usual, Frasier has to save the day.
Martin: As usual, Martin has to hear about it.

Niles: Frasier, Daphne and I are throwing the party.
Frasier: Daphne? Well. Fine, suit yourself. It's your painting. I suppose I could just whip up my signature dish.
Niles: Daphne's handling the food.
Frasier: Lovely. So you'll be serving those sad brown chunks that make their way from plate to napkin, bypassing mouth completely.
Niles: It's called "Piccadilly Beef", and I talked her out of it, thank God.

Mike Shaw: Is there anything worse than making phony conversation with phony art lovers?
Gertrude: Yes. Living with one. My son-in-law is the host. And if you didn't want yer bum kissed, you shouldn't have come, that's all they do here.
Mike Shaw: I wasn't gonna come, but my gallery insisted.
Gertrude: Oh, well, I am going to be upstairs watching a boxing match... should you feel the need to get away.
Mike Shaw: Well, I probably shouldn't, but maybe just the first round.
Gertrude: All right, then.
Mike Shaw: You wouldn't have anything to drink up there, would ya?
Gertrude: Just liquor.

Daphne: Uh, Niles, I've been thinking.
Niles: Hmm?
Daphne: Come and sit down, darling. Maybe it's time you stop throwing dinner parties with your brother.
Niles: What?
Daphne: You don't exactly have the best track record.
Niles: Well, throwing dinner parties is an art. It takes time to perfect.
Daphne: No.
Niles: But...
Daphne: No. [Niles opens his mouth] No, it has to stop.

Workman: Excuse me, it's after four o'clock. What if I finish this tomorrow?
Niles: Well, I suppose...
Daphne: Oh, no you don't. You said "one day" when I hired you, and that's what it's going to be. So get cracking, because something's going to be hanging from that rafter by the end of the day.
Workman: Yes, ma'am.
Niles: Daphne, you handled that so masterfully. As if he weren't wearing that authoritative tool belt at all.

Frasier: Oh, look! Here she is now, the hostess with the mostest.
Daphne: I see Niles told you.
Frasier: Yes. I'm sorry, I won't be attending your debut soiree, Daphne. I hope that doesn't upset your seating plan.
Daphne: It's going to be a buffet.
Frasier: Buffet! Well, if you should need any help, I think you know my phone number.
Niles: Number three on our speed dial.
Frasier: Number three. Interesting.

Roz: I can't believe how calm you are. I would be a nervous wreck by now.
Daphne: Well, I was nervous at first. But every step I thought "How would Frasier and Niles do this?"... and didn't do that.

Alice: I'm sorry, Mommy.
Roz: I know, honey. But from now on, just only sign your own artwork, okay?
Alice: 'Cause mine is prettier.
Roz: [looking at the painting] Yeah.

Frasier: You know, if he had any resourcefulness at all, he would know that miniature easels abound at Liliputia Dollhouse and Miniatures.