Niles: [storming in] You unprincipled charlatan! You unconscionable fraud! Happy Birthday, Dad.
Martin: Thanks.
Frasier: Niles, what are you talking about?
Niles: You spoke to a patient of mine today, Caroline. As a result of your fast-food approach to psychiatry, she left me.
Frasier: Caroline was your patient?
Niles: Two years of my hard work wiped out by one of your two-minute McSessions.
Frasier: Niles, I merely suggested that she consider a change.
Niles: Based on what diagnostic method? One potato, two potato?

Roz: Meanwhile someone's probably looting my apartment.
Niles: Yes. I hear there's a thriving black market in badly-designed Formica coffee tables.
Roz: At least I have my own sense of style. You won't even buy a chair unless some fey French aristocrat has sat his fat satin fanny in it.
Niles: Louis XIV was not fey! Everyone wore garters in the eighteenth century.

Frasier: A little offering from one of your suitors perhaps? A nice string of pearls? A teardrop pendant?
Roz: [emotionally] It's a brick of cheese!
Frasier: Well, on the right chain I can see that looking smart.
Roz: It's from my family. They're in Wisconsin at my Uncle's dairy farm having a family reunion.
Frasier: Oh, why didn't you go, Roz?
Roz: There wasn't time. But now I wish I'd gone. Frasier, we always have so much fun. Like this one time there was this huge cheese platter and one of my uncles started speaking in cheese language. You know, like instead of saying, "Hello, how are you?" he'd say, "Hello, Havarti." Someone else would go "Oh, I'm Gouda." Oh I don't know, what would come after that?
Frasier: Well, if I'd been there, the sound of a gunshot.

Frasier: Oh Roz, Roz! You're all right.
Roz: I'm fine. The blackout hit just as the elevator doors opened on the fourteenth floor. So I stood in the hallway trying to decide whether to come back in here with you guys or take my chances on the pitch-black streets with the muggers and the weirdos. So I went down a couple of flights ... and then I changed my mind.

Martin: That's it, I'm outta here.
Frasier: Oh, Dad, Dad. You haven't even cut your cake yet. Where are you going?
Martin: I'm going to sit in the tub with a hairdryer and wait for the power to come back on.

Martin: I certainly don't want to keep anybody here a second longer than they have to be so let's get this over with. Thanks fora great party!
[As Martin blows out his candles, the lights go out]
Niles: Well, there's nothing wrong with Dad's lungs.

Frasier: Daphne?
Daphne: I can't think of anything.
Frasier: Of course you can. Just say the first thing that comes into your mind. I'm the dullest person because...
Daphne: Oh, I don't know. Because I've never made love in a lift or a phone booth or on an aeroplane or a merry-go-round.
Frasier: Okay. That's good, but strategically speaking that's not the best way to get our pennies. You see it should be something that someone else might have actually... [Roz throws in a penny] ...done. [Roz throws in three more pennies]
Roz: I was in college. I was trying to find myself.
Niles: All you needed to do was look under the nearest man.

Niles: Well, this blackout could go on all night. It's time I braved the dark streets and got back to my Maris. I just hope it isn't like the lightning storm last month. The only way I could coax her out from under the bed was by tying a Prozac to the end of a string.

Daphne: You know, when I have my own kitchen I'm going to put my spoons right on the damn counter. I've always said as soon as I've saved two thousand dollars I'll get my own place.
Frasier: Well, how much have you saved?
Daphne: Four thousand. Oh, I know what you're thinking. What's wrong with me? Why do I stay here?
Frasier: No, I was just thinking I must be paying you too much.

Niles: Come on, Frasier.
Frasier: No, no, no thank you. I'm not really in the mood anymore.
Daphne: Don't be a party pooper.
Martin: Oh, let him be. He's always been that way.
Frasier: Excuse me just a second. I think maybe it's time for a little lesson about what it's like to live the life of
this particular party pooper. I spend the whole damn week ministering to the troubled and the neurotic and the sometimes just plain goofy. Then I hang up my earphones and it doesn't end there. Out on the street, at the café, even in this building, more people come up for help, more problems. I suppose they just think it's OK, it's what I do. But every time I try to help them it costs me a little piece of myself. A little bit here, a little bit there, a little bit here, a little bit there... until I end up feeling like a zebra carcass on the Serengeti surrounded by
burping vultures! Well, this happened to be one of those weeks. I had my escape planned. I was going to come home for an evening of fun with my extended family. What do I get? I get the four of you going at each other like the Borgias on a bad day! So I roll up my sleeves, and I tend to each one of you. And you all feel better. And the minute you get a whiff of mesquite coming from down below, you are out the door without so much as a "thank you." Well, thank you for the invitation, but I am, frankly, fed up with people and their problems. The Doctor is out.