Daphne: You can come out now.
Frasier: You know, honestly, Daphne, if these interruptions don't stop, my signature sauce will be reduced to a monogram. I'm using humor to make a point.

Niles: Frasier, Daphne and I are throwing the party.
Frasier: Daphne? Well. Fine, suit yourself. It's your painting. I suppose I could just whip up my signature dish.
Niles: Daphne's handling the food.
Frasier: Lovely. So you'll be serving those sad brown chunks that make their way from plate to napkin, bypassing mouth completely.
Niles: It's called "Piccadilly Beef", and I talked her out of it, thank God.

Mike Shaw: Is there anything worse than making phony conversation with phony art lovers?
Gertrude: Yes. Living with one. My son-in-law is the host. And if you didn't want yer bum kissed, you shouldn't have come, that's all they do here.
Mike Shaw: I wasn't gonna come, but my gallery insisted.
Gertrude: Oh, well, I am going to be upstairs watching a boxing match... should you feel the need to get away.
Mike Shaw: Well, I probably shouldn't, but maybe just the first round.
Gertrude: All right, then.
Mike Shaw: You wouldn't have anything to drink up there, would ya?
Gertrude: Just liquor.