Martin: Her oldest son is an accountant in Portland.
Daphne: He was the breech birth, right?
Martin: No, that's the dentist in Boise.
Daphne: Oh, right. He's the one with the wife that won't let him visit. I can't stand her.

Frasier: Morning, Dad. Daphne. [waving out the window] Morning, Irene!

Frasier: Dad, I really don't think your girlfriend needs to know about that.
Martin: She's not my girlfriend.
Frasier: Oh, come on. You two have been exchanging notes now for the last three days. If you were in the sixth grade, you'd be sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.

Martin: What are you doing?
Frasier: Well, I'm going to help along your little romance and possibly save a small forest.

Frasier: Hello? No, no, this is Frasier, hi. I'm fine. Well, it, uh, gets a little flaky when the weather is dry.

Daphne: Do you want to hear something cute, Dr. Crane? I made him this rich, gooey coffee cake, because you know what a sweet tooth he has. And he wouldn't even take one bite, because as he put it, "Women don't like a spare tire on a man."

Frasier: So, it's safe to assume, you two will be seeing each other?
Martin: Ah, she wanted to, but I said no.
Frasier: No? Why?
Martin: She's not my type. Oh, coffee cake! Hey, we got any butter around here?

Frasier: You know, I don't think so, Niles. I know Dad. Don't meddle.
Niles: All right. The least you could do is say hello to Aunt Patrice.
Frasier: I'm not driving out to your house.
Niles: You don't have to. She's sitting out in the car.
Frasier: You left her in the car?
Niles: I cracked open a window.
Frasier: Oh, then she's fine.

Frasier: No, calm down, son. Listen to Daddy. It's just a bad dream, I promise you. Senator Thurmond is not in your closet. That's a good boy. All right. You go back to bed now I love you, too. I'll see you next weekend. OK, bye-bye.

Martin: How's Freddy?
Frasier: Oh, Frederick is fine. He sent his love. He said to thank you for the toy gun you gave him. At least what he can remember of it before Lilith smashed it to bits with a croquet mallet.