Frasier: Just read it. Scott Alexander, what's he been up to?
Daphne: Wife, kids, has his own computer software business.
Frasier: Nancy Kearns.
Daphne: Mother of three, successful physician, has invented a drug that may aid in the treatment of cancer.
Frasier: Ah, a cure for cancer. Won't they be green with envy when I trump them all with this little story of my life: Frasier Crane, unattached, unemployed and living with his father. He spends his days scrubbing his oven and is anxiously awaiting his upcoming tooth cleaning!

Frasier: Well, I just hope he hasn't done something foolish. Remember he was having brunch with Maris on Sunday.
Martin: Oh, that was just business.
Frasier: Well, you know, Dad, he is broken-hearted. People in his condition have a tendency to run back to their exes. A lonely man clinging to an available warm body. Well, of course in Maris's case, that's just an expression.

Man: Here to pick up a chair.
Frasier: Right. It's right there.
Man: Sorry I'm late.
Frasier: It's all right.
Man: Been waiting long?
Frasier: Eleven years. Uh, be careful with it.

Martin: Now, sit down. Your breakfast is ready.
Frasier: No, Dad. Dad, look, all I ever have is a bran muffin and a touch of yogurt.
Martin: Girly food. Besides, I already fixed your breakfast. Now, I made you eggs in a nest.
Frasier: Ah, yes, the Crane family specialty. Fried eggs swimming in fat, served in a hollowed-out piece of white bread. I can almost hear my left ventricle slamming shut as I speak.
Martin: You want cheese on that?
Frasier: No. I'd like to leave some blood flow for the clot to go swiftly to my brain.

Martin: Hey, Fras, how was your dinner?
Frasier: Not since Quasimodo strolled the streets of medieval Paris have so many people uttered the phrase, "That poor man."

Niles: Other motorists are getting angry.
Frasier: If they weren't so shortsighted, they'd see that I'm doing this for their own good. It's like correcting people's grammar. I don't do it to be popular.

Franklin: Could we just stop for a second? This whole getting-left-at-the-altar thing— I just don't know what I'm supposed to be feeling.
Frasier: I may be able to illuminate that for you! What you are feeling is that this woman has reached into your chest, plucked out your heart, and thrown it to her hell-hounds for a chew toy! And it's not the last time either! Because that's what this woman is! She is the devil! There's no use running away from her, because no matter how far you go, no matter how many years you let pass, you will never be completely out of reach of those bony fingers! So, drink hearty, Franklin, and laugh! Because you have made a pact with Beelzebub! And her name is Mary Ann!

Niles: Frasier, are you all right?
Frasier: I was fine before you screamed. What the hell's wrong with you?
Niles: Well, Daphne said you were depressed and here you are with your head in the oven.
Frasier: I was cleaning it, Niles. It's electric. If I was going to end my life I'd choose something quicker than broiling.

Daphne: What a horrible thing to happen. Can you picture poor Mrs. Crane confined to a jail cell?
Frasier: Only if they moved the bars closer together.

Niles: Well, that's a bit harsh.
Frasier: Oh, please. This is a woman who believes the Spanish Inquisition was just tough love for heretics.