Daphne: Look at this fancy back scratcher.
Niles: That's not exactly what it is. Every winter Maris would fly down to the private island her family owns in the south Pacific. On Christmas, she'd let the native children come by and fish coins from hers fountains.
Martin: Oh, some kind of coin-scooper, huh?
Niles: No, no. It's a stick with a claw on the end it in case any of the children got too close to her.

Roz: Is it true that she fired one of the gardeners because she found a worm on the front walk?
Niles: Well, to be fair, Maris has always been frightened and disgusted by them.
Roz: It's just a stupid worm.
Niles: No, I'm talking about gardeners.

Niles: Ah, I found me. Daphne, avert your eyes. Let's get this thing wrapped up and into my trunk.
Martin: Oh, geez. How could you stand to look at yourself like that?
Niles: I never had to. It was in Maris' bedroom.

Niles: "So, I shipped myself to our private island where, like dear Uncle Julius, I will be immune from extradition. Thank you all and forgive me. Best regards, Maris. P.S. Big ups to all my homeys in lock-down. Stay black, Cell Block D."
Frasier: So, you were the decoys. It's ingenious.
Niles: Mm-hmm.
Martin: How'd she get the tracking bracelet off?
Niles: Apparently she swallowed a salt tablet to make her ankle swell right before they fitted her. Then, when the swelling went down, the bracelet just slipped right off.

Frasier: You know, I heard the most extraordinary thing on the radio today.
Niles: I know. Rubinstein's torrid survey of the Chopin mazurkas. It took all my strength not to turn the car around, drive home and ravish my wife.
Roz: That Daphne is one lucky lady.

Niles: Well, why don't you just find another insurer?
Roz: Oh, you know who you should talk to? Ann Hodges!
Frasier: Oh, Roz, have you lost your mind? I never want to see that woman again.
Niles: Who is she?
Frasier: Oh, a friend of Roz's. We had a stunningly bad date, during which my behavior was less than chivalrous.
Roz: You ate her ravioli, then hit on another woman in the same restaurant.
Frasier: Which I concede was less than chivalrous.

Niles: You should be covered, Frasier. God forbid something happens - a pipe bursts, or Dad should screw up again. Remember the great bacon fire of '98?

Frasier: Oh, and by the way: Until this home is insured once again, there will be no more barbecuing or deep frying.
Martin: Does that include the hot plate in my bedroom?
Frasier: Since when do you have a hot plate?!
Martin: Well, since I finally figured out how to plug it in. In just one outlet, I have my TV, aquarium, clock radio and that old space heater.
Frasier: Yes, well, unplug everything.

Frasier: I hope you enjoyed your sandwich. It may end up costing me my apartment.
Martin: You think she'll sue you?
Frasier: Oh, come on, Dad, she's an insurance woman. If anybody knows anything about milking money out of an injury, it's her.
Martin: Well, won't your insurance cover it?
Frasier: I have no insurance!

Niles: I have Maris news: She's auctioning off some of her things to help pay for her defense. She's letting me come by first to claim anything I want. Well, this is my chance to seize and destroy my boudoir painting.
Martin: What's that?
Niles: Oh. Well, years ago, Maris and I got the idea into our heads to commission portraits of a... well, quasi-erotic nature.
Frasier: Dear God.
[With a look of disgust on his face, Martin gets up and goes to the kitchen.]
Frasier: Continue.
Niles: Well, Maris is depicted as a doe-eyed wood nymph, while in my painting I am the satyr Pan. A louche sybaritic goat-man with a depraved appetite for all things sensual.