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.

Roz: What, you don't talk to your dad like that?
Frasier: Hardly. We hardly speak at all.
Roz: Really?
Frasier: Well, you know, we're not really very similar people. In fact, my brother and I are a lot more like my mother. You know, if it wasn't biologically impossible, I'd swear that Dad was dropped in a basket on our doorstep.

Bulldog: Hey, where the hell's my Cosell tape? Somebody stole my Cosell tape! This stinks. This is total BS! This- Oh, here it is.