Roz: Meanwhile someone's probably looting my apartment.
Niles: Yes. I hear there's a thriving black market in badly-designed Formica coffee tables.
Roz: At least I have my own sense of style. You won't even buy a chair unless some fey French aristocrat has sat his fat satin fanny in it.
Niles: Louis XIV was not fey! Everyone wore garters in the eighteenth century.

Frasier: A little offering from one of your suitors perhaps? A nice string of pearls? A teardrop pendant?
Roz: [emotionally] It's a brick of cheese!
Frasier: Well, on the right chain I can see that looking smart.
Roz: It's from my family. They're in Wisconsin at my Uncle's dairy farm having a family reunion.
Frasier: Oh, why didn't you go, Roz?
Roz: There wasn't time. But now I wish I'd gone. Frasier, we always have so much fun. Like this one time there was this huge cheese platter and one of my uncles started speaking in cheese language. You know, like instead of saying, "Hello, how are you?" he'd say, "Hello, Havarti." Someone else would go "Oh, I'm Gouda." Oh I don't know, what would come after that?
Frasier: Well, if I'd been there, the sound of a gunshot.

Frasier: Oh Roz, Roz! You're all right.
Roz: I'm fine. The blackout hit just as the elevator doors opened on the fourteenth floor. So I stood in the hallway trying to decide whether to come back in here with you guys or take my chances on the pitch-black streets with the muggers and the weirdos. So I went down a couple of flights ... and then I changed my mind.