Martin: And Claire, I just want you to know how glad we are that you're here. I don't remember Frasier being this happy in a long time.
Frasier: Out of swordfish, too?
Waiter: I'm sorry, sir. May I suggest the pepper steak?
Frasier: Steak? That's what we should eat at Belize's finest seafood restaurant? There's an ocean full of fresh fish not fifteen feet away, but why not try a slab of artery-clogging, hormone-injected, frozen red meat instead?

Frasier: Actually, I'm planning on asking her to go to Belize with me next weekend.
Niles: Oh, Belize-imo!
Frasier: You'd better Belize it!
Niles: Let's see what we can do with "Ecuador."
Frasier: Maybe later.

Niles: You know, Daphne and I are celebrating one year of being together.
Frasier: Niles, that's wonderful. Gosh. So, what do you have in store?
Niles: Oh, a weekend alone at my apartment. You see, we don't need beaches or sunsets, just a simple Victorian bathtub filled with champagne, us, and a non-slip mat.
Frasier: Romantic and yet prudent. Very good.
Niles: Thank you very much.

Niles: Well, I'm so sorry. You must be devastated.
Frasier: Well...
Niles: Can I have your reservations?
Frasier: Excuse me?
Niles: Well, I've decided to go away with Daphne for our anniversary.
Frasier: Why not? At least one of us should have the most romantic weekend of his life.
Niles: Thank you, Frasier. I only wish it could be you. Do you suppose I could borrow your new luggage? ... That's too far.

Lana: God, I just hope Claire is waiting outside. This traffic is terrible.
[Lana honks her horn and swerves the car. Frasier then takes a drag on her cigarette]
Lana: I didn't know you smoked.
Frasier: I don't. The way you're driving I'm not gonna die of natural causes anyway.

Frasier: What is that supposed to mean?
Lana: It means... that nothing is ever good enough for you. You complain about everything.
Frasier: That is not true.
Lana: Oh, come on, Frasier. I have been out with you. "The wine has turned." "The silver has tarnished." "The service is too slow." "The cheese is runny."
Frasier: Fine, it was Camembert. If anything, it wasn't runny enough. Yes, I may have exacting standards, but what you choose to characterize as fault-finding, I think of as my steadfast refusal to settle.
Lana: Please. This Newport is more alive with pleasure than you are. The truth is, Frasier, you don't know how to be happy.
Frasier: That is ridiculous.
Lana: Admit it. You know I'm right.
Frasier: Want to see me happy? You leave more than half a car length between us and that Taurus.

Manager: Dr. Crane? Dr. Crane? I understand your room is not satisfactory?
Frasier: [loudly] Yes, I had a reservation for an ocean-view suite and instead I got a single room overlooking an abandoned bus.
Manager: Sir. Please, sir, you don't have to yell.
Frasier: Oh, I'm sorry. You see, my ears got clogged somewhere above Xuahaca and they haven't popped yet. Now, if I could just get the room that I reserved.
Manager: I'm afraid we gave your room away. Check in time is three o'clock and we never heard from you.
Frasier: Let me see. At 3:00, my girlfriend and I had just disembarked in Punta Gorda from our plane that was late because the pilot had to dust some crops. I could have called during my connecting tractor ride, but I had to find out which of four airlines had lost my luggage. Not to mention- My ears just popped.
Manager: Congratulations, sir.
Frasier: I still want a better room!

Claire: [loudly] Frasier, this place is wonderful. You should see the pool!
Frasier: It's all right. My ears are better now.
Claire: Oh, well, that's good news.
Frasier: Yes, we're on a roll.

Niles: Frasier, this vacation is going to do you good. This place is completely freeing. Would you believe that today I dabbled in public nudity? Daphne and I found a secluded cove on the beach. We shed our garments and surrendered ourselves to the sand, the sea and one rather curious grouper.
Frasier: Don't you have a diary?

Niles: Oh, you know what? You have got to get the John Dory.
Daphne: No, it can't be any better than this halibut.
Martin: No, don't listen to them. These soft-shelled crabs are melting in my mouth.
Waiter: I'm sorry, sir, but we're out of all three.
Frasier: Wonderful. Well, what fish do you have?
Waiter: We make a decent swordfish.
Frasier: "Decent"? That's what I traveled four thousand miles for? "Decent"? You should put that on your menu: Home of the Decent...