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: You know, I've never really won anything before. Although back in prep school, the Existentialist Club once named me "Most Likely To Be."

Niles: Yes, well. This has been delightful, but I really must run. I'm due at my sexual addiction group, and I don't like to leave them alone for too long.

Frasier: So, this, ah, this is quite a surprise, you know. Actually I'd, uh, forgotten that the nominations were coming out today.
Bebe: Oh, isn't he precious? You must be very proud of Frasier.
Niles: Well, actually ... no. This nomination is just one more signpost on the low road of celebrity which my brother has chosen for himself.
Frasier: Hope that's not sibling rivalry rearing its vicious little green snout?
Niles: Absolutely not. I'm still in the minority who still believes that psychiatry is a noble profession that is tarnished by such things as popularity contests, not to mention a bouncy little radio program.
Bebe: I bet you two had wicked little hair-pulling fights when you were tots.