Martin: Well, look who's back.
Simon: Well, who's this then? I'd say it was Marty Crane, but he's a bit too young and trim, eh?
Martin: Oh, go on. Can I offer you a beer?
Simon: Oh, I hate to drink alone. Could I have a sandwich with that?

Roz: All right. But Simon, just remember my ex-boyfriend will be there. If anybody asks, you're an internet millionaire.
Simon: Right. I'll be the perfect, well-bred, up-market gentleman. Now, I'll walk you to the garage.
Roz: Ah, you don't have to.
Simon: No, it's no bother. I live there.

Simon: Hello, boys. Pack of smokes, please, barkeep. Ah, lovely spot, isn't it? I just took a nice little stroll outside, around the wishing well.
Bartender: That'll be four dollars, please.
Simon: Oh, yeah, right. [Simon pulls out a bunch of coins from his pocket] This ought to cover it.

Roz: Simon, this is my old friend Tim. He's a computer programmer.
Simon: Oh, what a coincidence, with me owning my own software company.
Tim: Really? What sort of applications are you focused on?
Simon: Voice recognition, data encryption, a little something I'm working on for NASA. Can't discuss that one.
Tim: Oh, very impressive. And Roz? Are you still producing?
Simon: Oh, I'll say she is! [Simon smacks Roz's behind]

Simon: Pardon.
Daphne: Simon. How did you get in here?
Simon: Well, Frasier loaned me his key, in a manner of speaking.

Simon: I have to get some things from the mini-bar, here. Don't want to get caught empty-handed when last call comes. You're not having a last call of your own in here, are you, Stilts?
Daphne: Of course not.
Simon: Riight. This isn't the chap whose baby you're having, is it?
Niles: Excuse me?
Daphne: I'm not pregnant!

Simon: Right, that's the last of it. Look sharp, Daphne!
[Simon tosses a box at Daphne, which falls to the ground with a shattering sound]
Daphne: Simon, you idiot.
Simon: Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, I already dropped it in the elevator.

Roz: Daphne, Simon's opening your gifts.
Daphne: Bloody hell. Simon, give me that. You idiot.
Simon: Roz, you little snitch. You know, I'm starting to have serious doubts about whether you're gonna be the future mother of my children.
Roz: Somewhere out there, the future mother of your children just lifted her head from a puddle of drool.
Simon: Yeah, but I'll bet she's got a ripper body.

Simon: Oh, come on, Rose, we both know that this boyfriend thing is a ruse. You don't have to play hard to get with me.
Roz: I really do have a boyfriend.
Simon: Oh, yeah?
Roz: Yeah.
Simon: What's his name?
Roz: Roger.
Simon: What color is his hair?
Roz: Brown.
Simon: What's his name?
Roz: Roger.
Simon: Is that the name you just said a minute ago?

Michael: So, lads, I tell you what... [mumbling unintelligibly]... Done bloody well for 'imself.
Simon: That's right, Michael. Frasier does very well for himself. Tell you what, let's take the tour.
Frasier: There will be no tours!