Roz: Gee, what a couple of Nerdlingers.
Frasier: Oh, and I suppose you were Miss Popular at High School?
Roz: I would say yes.
Frasier: I'm guessing that explains why, too.

Niles: Obviously the time has come for me to expand my practice, so I'm placing an ad in the Seattle "Style" magazine.
Frasier: An advertisement? Isn't that a bit commercial for a psychiatrist?
Niles: Said Dr. Pot to Dr. Kettle! Besides, a highly respected obstetrician on my floor did it and now his waiting room has more swollen bellies than a Buddhist temple. [laughs] I like that. I'm on my way to call it in, I just want to run it by you.
Frasier: All right. "Dr. Niles Crane, Jung specialist. Servicing individuals, couples, groups. Satisfaction guaranteed. Tell me where it hurts." Well, that's just excellent, Niles. All you're missing now is a very tasteful cartoon of you smiling brightly and holding a shrunken head.
Niles: Sorry, I didn't hear you. I was too distracted by your face going by on the side of a bus.

Niles: I had an abysmal day. Remember the ad I placed?
Frasier: Oh yes. "Dr. Niles Crane, Jung specialist," blah blah blah.
Niles: Yes. Well, they made a tiny little typo. See if you can find it.
Frasier: "Dr. Niles Crane, Hung specialist." Oh, my!
Niles: The rest they got perfectly. "Servicing individuals, couples, groups. Satisfaction guaranteed. Tell me where it hurts."

Roz: Hey Frasier, do you have a minute?
Frasier: Yes, of course, Roz. What is it?
Roz: Well, you're not going to like this idea. You're going to complain and make up excuses and then say no anyway.
Frasier: Those are the very words I would use to woo my dear Lilith.

Roz: OK, here goes. I have this friend and I think you two would really hit it off.
Frasier: And you were wondering if I might meet her for a drink, which might lead to dinner, and then after that who knows where?
Roz: Yes, exactly.
Frasier: Oh, oh Roz. Do you hear that?
Roz: What?
Frasier: If you listen very carefully you can actually hear my skin crawling.

Frasier: Daphne, are you finished here with the microwave?
Daphne: Oh, no! [A cloud of smoke emerges from the microwave as Daphne pulls out Martin's shoes]
Martin: My Muckabees!
Daphne: I didn't mean to leave them in there so long.
Frasier: Yes, well, English cooking strikes again.

Sharon: I know you too. You're that guy that says golf is not a sport.
Bulldog: Well, it's not.
Sharon: Really?
Bulldog: Yeah. No cheerleaders, no blood and the only cups involved are in the ground.

Frasier: Roz set this up that I might meet Sharon. Until you got here things were going in a very positive direction.
Bulldog: Yeah, well, things seem to have changed, haven't they? What do you eggheads call that? Irony?
Frasier: Look, is there nothing I can do to appeal to your sense of decency?
Bulldog: Hey, I have no sense of decency. That way my other senses are enhanced.

Frasier: Well, I don't know. The whole thing was sort of a blur. We were talking about golf and something called a handicap, the next thing I know I'm sitting there with a cappuccino muttering to myself in a very soothing voice.
Roz: I'm sorry.
Frasier: It's all right, Roz. It's just the whole thing catapulted me back to high school. You've only known me as an adult, but back then I was a rather unathletic, bookish sort.
Roz: Get out!

Frasier: Jocks were the bane of my existence. They always called me a "weenie" and steal all the girls that I wanted.
Roz: Oh Frasier, you must have had some girlfriends.
Frasier: Friends, yeah, yeah. Any time they wanted a sensitive shoulder to cry on, butl some block-headed pillar of testosterone would come by and it was, "Bye Frasier, we can study later." I'd head home to Niles and we'd put on "The Brandenburg Concertos" and play air violin.