Niles: Of course, I can't take care of him.
Frasier: Oh, yes, of course. Of course. Why?
Niles: Because Dad doesn't get along with Maris.
Frasier: Who does?
Niles: I thought you liked my Maris.
Frasier: I do. I like her from a distance. You know, the way you like the sun. Maris is like the sun, except without the warmth.

Niles: Let's get some lights on. [claps]
Frasier: Good Lord, what the hell is that?
Niles: Maris had it made after she lost power in a storm. Battery operated, works on a clapper so you can find it in the dark. Only problem was, the poor thing, try as she might, could never clap hard enough to activate it.

Frasier: I am so sorry, Daphne. Now all I have to do is make this relatively simple shot, unless of course you'd like to concede defeat.
Daphne: Oh, that's typical American arrogance. We Brits don't know the meaning of the word "defeat".
Frasier: Oh, really, then I suppose you're not acquainted with a little spat we refer to as the Revolutionary War. Out of my way.
Daphne: Oh, just like a Yank. Insulting us Brits to cover up your inferiority complex.
Frasier: What exactly should we feel inferior about, your pioneering work in the field of soccer hooliganism? [laughs]
Daphne: Oh, say your worst .We both know there isn't as much dignity in this entire country as our Queen's got in her littlefinger.
Frasier: Oh, yes, you've really bested me there. What could be more dignified than a dowdy old sandbag who wears a flowerpot on her head. I win. The bar is mine. [Frasier turns around to see the British clientele stood menacingly behind him] Oh, lose the long faces, lads, I'm staying. Oh, good Lord, I hope you didn't take those little barbs about the motherland seriously.
Terrence: Perhaps you'd better leave now.
Frasier: Oh, Daphne'll tell you there's no greater Anglophile than I. I have all my suits made at Savile Row. You know, I spell "colour" with a "u!"

Niles: I gave Maris her birthday saddle. She was so thrilled she treated me to a little Lady Godiva impression.
Frasier: Oh, my.
Niles: Apparently, the oils in the saddle reacted badly with her cellulite cream and created a powerful epoxy.
Frasier: Oh, dear.
Niles: Yes, it took an hour and a full bottle of nail polish remover to get her free. Today, her poor little thighs were so sore the only way she could find comfort was to straddle a frozen butterball turkey.

Daphne: Well, look at that, it's all tied up.
Frasier: Yes, who would have guessed those hands are so skilled. Certainly no one who's sampled your corned beef hash. Ha. I score again!
Daphne: That's not something we hear out of your mouth very often.