Frasier: You know, Niles, we could open it up to the general public.
Niles: That's not a bad idea. A warm bed.
Frasier: A freshly-baked scone.
Niles: For a moderate fee...
Frasier: It could pay for itself.
Niles: As a B & B!
Daphne: If you two break into song, I'm leaving.

Daphne: I used to have the same problem when I was raising show rats.
Niles: You don't mean the nasty, plague-propagating vermin, do you?
Daphne: No. I mean purebred rats. As in Siamese or Himalayan or Husky. My most prized one was an Andalusian Blue named Lady Prissy and she wasn't sick a day in her life. So don't go blaming all rats because of a few bad apples.
Frasier: A few bad apples? Daphne, they spread a disease that nearly wiped out half the population of Europe.
Daphne: Shows what you know. Those were common European brown rats.
Frasier: Yes, but the point is-
Daphne: Oh, no, no, no. I'll sit here and listen to you prattle on about wine and opera. But when it comes to rats, you're in my house.

Martin: Oh boy, this brings back memories.
Frasier: Oh Niles, do you remember doing our homework up here at the dining room table?
Niles: Oh yes, and afternoon piano lessons.
Martin: Getting haircuts from your mother.
Frasier: And Mom's roll-top desk on this wall over here.
Niles: Where we wrote all the "Crane Boys Mysteries." I can still see you pacing in your writer's tweeds and half-glasses, dictating.
Frasier: And you in your shawl-collar sweater, hammering away at the keys of that old Royal typewriter.
Niles: Gosh, when did those two crazy kids become such a pair of old fuddy-duddies?