Frasier: Yes, well, Niles, that's quite a gesture. But I mean, really, ice fishing? In an arctic tundra where large men spit and it freezes in their beards?
Niles: After you've seen Maris's interpretive dance group perform "Afternoon of a Faun" in the east garden, the wilderness holds no terror.

Daphne: Well, I'd go, but to me the pleasure of fishing has always been waiting for the men to return with their catch. Oh, I can still see my brothers' friends coming back from the lake, their chiseled faces all ruddy and wind-burnt. Oh, they were so masculine, I just couldn't wait to pan fry their kippers.
Niles: I'll go ice fishing, Dad.

Frasier: So you're suggesting that I go along and pretend I'm enjoying myself, doing something that gives me absolutely no pleasure at all, just to hear the words "I love you?"
Daphne: Why not? Women have been doing it for centuries.