[Frasier is covered in an array of tiny, blood-soaked spots of toilet paper]
Martin: Jeez, I thought you were just going to slit your wrists. It looks like you went for "death of a thousand cuts."
Frasier: I cut myself because I was shaving without water. And why was there no water? Because I had to move your chair, which gouged the floor, which made me call for Joe, who found bad pipes, which called for Cecil, who ate the cat that killed the rat that lived in the house that Frasier built!

Daphne: How is it those same taste buds can't tell the difference between my pot roast and my flank steak?
Frasier: Considering you learned to cook in England, it's a wonder I can tell your flank steak from a braised tennis ball.

Joe: Where's the scratch?
Martin: Oh, you mean you didn't see it? We were going to put some orange cones around it so nobody would fall in it.

Joe: Dr. Crane, don't panic, I can explain everything.
Frasier: Wonderful. Then, perhaps you can explain these legs.
Joe: That's Cecil. He's the best ceiling guy in Seattle. We were lucky to get him. When we opened up the wall to get to the faulty wiring, we found that the gas pipes leading to your fireplace were cracked. Had to be fixed.
Frasier: Tonight?
Martin: I OK'd it. It just seemed wiser to do it before the explosion.

Frasier: Be sure you all tune in tomorrow for Part 2 in our series, "Women of the Cheese Belt." Goodbye for now, and good mental health.

Roz: These messages came for you earlier. Your wines are ready.
Frasier: Oh, excellent. I'm hosting a tasting tonight for the wine club Niles and I belong to. I'm hoping they name me the Maitre d'Chai. It's a long-standing dream of mine to wear that silver cup around my neck.
Roz: You know, back in Wisconsin if a guy wore a cup around his neck it meant he'd ticked off the gym teacher.
Frasier: Fine! Make sport, but this does happen to be important to me.
Roz: Since when? You used to say that club was nothing but a bunch of arrogant cork-sniffing snobs.
Frasier: Well, that was before I got in.

Niles: Now, now, let's move on to the number seven.
Frasier: [smells another glass] Ah, touch of oak. Hint of currant. Whisper of....
[Martin enters with Eddie on a leash. Eddie shakes off the rain]
Frasier: [smelling] What is that, what is that? Oh, yes. Wet dog!

Frasier: Which reminds me, Dad, I have a favor to beg. Would you mind if I moved your chair into your room until after the tasting?
Martin: Forget it, you might as well ask me to stay in my room.
Niles: Which takes care of the second favor.

Frasier: Okay, Niles. Come on, grab an end.
Niles: Oh, you're serious. You know I don't lift.
Frasier: Yes, with that stick where it is I'm surprised you can bend.

Martin: Oh, for Pete's sake, it's just a little scratch. Get me a yellow magic marker. I'll color it in, no one'll know the difference.
Frasier: Dad, you have no idea how critical these people can be: they love finding fault.
Daphne: We could put a rug over it.
Frasier: A rug? Where a rug doesn't belong? Why don't you just throw down a Twister mat, have a few rounds between vintages?