Martin: Come on, Niles, you think I don't see the way you look at Daphne?
Niles: What are you implying?
Martin: You know damn well what I'm implying. Take my word for it, you're sticking a fork in the toaster here.
Niles: Well, my muffin's stuck.

Niles: Besides, what's the harm in a few dance lessons?
Martin: It's nighttime. You're alone. The music's on. You've got your arms around her. You'll end up saying something you can't take back.
Niles: I have no intention of saying anything.
Martin: No one ever does. Take my word for it. When I was separated from your mother, there was this pretty coroner in the city morgue. I always had a bit of a crush on her. Whenever we'd find a dead body, I'd yell out, "Okay, boys, I'll take it from here." So, this one night, I invited her down to the corner bar.
Niles: Coroners have their own bars?
Martin: No, corner, Niles. The corner bar! Anyway, we had a few drinks, the lights were low, Sinatra on the jukebox. Before I knew it, it just all came pouring out of me. I told her how I felt. I mean, I knew the second it was out of my mouth that it was a mistake. She let me down easy but we still had to go on seeing each other all the time. It was no fun going to the morgue after that.

Daphne: Oh, Dr. Crane, it's so beautiful.
Niles: Just for tonight, could you call me Niles?
Daphne: You know, when I was at school I knew a boy named Niles and I called him Niley.
Niles: Just for tonight, could you call me Niles?

Daphne: A tango.
Niles: Oh, you never taught me a tango.
Daphne: Oh, you'll love it. It's perfect for you. This is a passionate, full-blooded dance that rose up from the slums of Buenos Aires.
Niles: Well, the parallels between me and an unemployed gaucho aside, I think we probably should just sit this one out.
Daphne: Oh, nonsense. There's only one rule in the tango: our bodies must be in continuous contact, with not a sliver of daylight between us.
Niles: I can do that.

Niles: Oh, it gets worse. This morning I spoke to Marta, my ex-maid and current mole. She reports that Broadwater is just the latest in a parade of escorts. The gigolos are swarming around Maris like ants on a Snickers bar.

Roz: And don't forget to bring me a present!
Frasier: I'll get you a nice T-shirt from Colonial Williamsburg.
Roz: You're taking Frederick to Williamsburg? Ew!
Frasier: No. It's a wonderful vacation spot. We're going to dip candles, tan leather, churn butter...
Roz: Hey, Frederick Crane, you just finished the first grade, what are you going to do now? "I'm going to Butterworld!"

Frasier: Now, to the rest of my listeners, I'll be off on vacation for the next week, so please tune in to my replacement, the noted podiatrist, Dr Gareth Wooten, who'll be discussing the virtues of his new book, "Bunions and Blisters and Corns". Oh My!
Roz: I hate it when that weird foot freak subs for you. Couldn't you just have Frederick come and visit you here?

Martin: All right, they ranked all the dogs and the smartest was a border collie; he did it in seven seconds. All right, come on boy, take it off. Six... seven. Okay, well, the next fastest one was a poodle, I know he's as smart as a poodle. Okay,so he's no poodle. He's not a beagle either. Or a German shepherd. Or a Labrador. Oh, for God's
sake, Eddie!
Daphne: Yes, well, if you ask me, he's refusing to do that trick because he knows if he does it right, you'll have him doing it every time we have company.
Martin: Hey, I'll bet you're right. [takes the towel off] Nice going, Eddie.

Daphne: Oh, hello, Dr. Crane.
Niles: I appreciate the false cheer, Daphne. But I'm sure you've seen this? Today's society page?
Martin: Don't tell me, don't tell me, don't tell me. I'm saving it for after dinner.

Niles: If you're suggesting that I start dating, you can save your breath. Women don't exactly find me irresistible.
Martin: Oh, come on, Niles, you've had lots of girlfriends.
Niles: Oh, let's count. There's Maris. ... Oh, Dora, my childhood pen pal from Costa Rica. I seem to recall a little girl in the fourth grade who lured me to a stairwell to show me her underpants.