Frasier: Dad, please spare me, I am a psychiatrist, I know the routine. [notices the photograph Martin is pointing at] Good lord, who is that?
Martin: That's me. In '74. Going through my own little stage. I'd dyed my hair jet black and bought a leather jacket and a Harley Davidson.
Frasier: My God, Dad. You look like one of the Village People.
Martin: Well, fortunately I came to my senses before you got back from Harvard that summer.
Frasier: Are those love beads?
Martin: All right, that's enough.

Martin: You may think it's tough being middle-aged, but think about me. I got a son who's middle-aged. [Martin leaves]
[Frasier lets out a sigh as he descends into a chair]
Martin: I heard that.

Daphne: Well, Mr. Crane, I believe I came here on a mission.
Martin: Alright, but remember, I don't want anything fancy or that comes in tubes. I want them white, I want them plain, and I want them boxers.
Daphne: That's the exactly the kind of lack of imagination that sunk the British Empire.

Frasier: Listen, if you don't want to go with elastic, maybe you could go with suspenders. That way, if you keep your jacket closed, that little gut of yours can hang down to here and nobody's any the wiser.
Frasier: I do not have a gut! [looks at himself sideways in the mirror] I have ... contours.

Frasier: But you know, just out of curiosity, how old do you think I am?
Carrie: Oh, I don't want to do that.
Frasier: No, no, no, please go ahead.
Carrie: I don't know. Um, thirty-six?
Frasier: Are you serious?
Carrie: Oh, God. I'm sorry. You're probably more like thirty-four. Now you don't want to buy anything from me.
Frasier: Are those Armani shirts expensive?
Carrie: Yeah.
Frasier: I'll take two!

Carrie: You know, I love to guess what my customers do by what they wear. Let me guess. You're an architect, right?
Frasier: No, I'm a psychiatrist.
Carrie: Oh. I've taken some psychiatry courses. What are you, Freudian? Reichian?
Frasier: Well, actually, lately I've been leaning more towards Jung. Guess that's because I'm "Jung at heart." Gotta be the oldest joke in the psychiatrist's joke book. Can't believe I said it.
Carrie: I can't believe I laughed at that.
Frasier: Oh, I bet you laugh at all of your customer's jokes.
Carrie: No. Just the cute ones.
Frasier: Cute jokes or customers?
Carrie: You figure it out.

Bulldog: Hey, doc. Hear the great news? Ken Griffey Jr.'s groin pull is completely healed.
Frasier: Thank goodness. I'm sure years from now we'll all remember where we were the moment we heard the joyful news.

Bulldog: Excuse me. You look very familiar. Didn't I let you pour a flaming tequila shooter down my throat at Sloppy Nick's during ah, last year's Indy 500?
Carrie: Ah, no.
Bulldog: Well, what are you doing next Memorial Day?
Frasier: Bulldog, as certain as I am that any young lady in the world would love to set your face on fire, Carrie, I believe, is here to see me.

Frasier: I'm very flattered that you'd like to go out with me, and uh, jeez, I think you're a beautiful young woman-
Carrie: But?
Frasier: Well it's, it's our ages. I mean, how old are you?
Carrie: Twenty-two. How old are you?
Frasier: That's not polite.

Frasier: Roz, what about the age thing?
Roz: Well, what about it?
Frasier: Oh, come on. You see an old man walking down the street arm in arm with a beautiful young girl, what do you think?
Roz: I think he must be really rich. Then I try to make eye contact.