Niles: You free for lunch today?
Frasier: Oh, sadly, no. The radio station is subjecting my program to something they call a "focus group" this afternoon. Dinner, perhaps?
Niles: Oh, perfect. And what exactly is a focus group?
Frasier: Well, they actually drag a pack of people off the street and make them listen to my program, and then dutifully record their opinions about it.
Niles: How demeaning!
Frasier: Oh, absolutely. Can you imagine Sigmund Freud being dragged into a room full of Viennese laymen to hear remarks like, "Hate that Oedipal thing, but, oh, love the penis envy." I mean, really. The worst thing is that they may change my show in deference to the opinion of Joe Six-Pack!

Frasier: Uh, may I? I know there's nothing I can say right now that would make you feel any better, but rest assured, I will be financially responsible for everything.
Manu: All this because you had to know why I do not like you.
Frasier: Well, you were kind of vague.
Manu: You want to know why? I'll tell you why. I think you are a smarty-pants. I was too polite to say that before. But then you spied on me, you stalked me, you badgered me, you poured Yoo-Hoo down my Dockers, you crunched my hand, and then, as if all that was not enough, you burned down my newsstand, my livelihood, a gift to me from my beloved uncle, may he rest in peace!
Frasier: Was that so hard?

Martin: What is it about you? Everybody has to love you. You know, it's like when you were in that play in high school. You get standing ovations every night, all your friends say you're great, you got one lousy review in the school paper and you sulked for a week.
Frasier: Well, you know, Dad, I'd like to think I've matured a bit since then. But, you know, you would have sulked too, if you'd read in the paper, "Mr. Crane's attempts to gyrate his hips as Conrad, the teen idol in 'Bye-Bye, Birdie,' made this reviewer say, 'Bye-bye, breakfast!'"
Niles: That review was a mash note compared to my first draft.

Niles: Oh, my God. Frasier set his newsstand on fire.
Martin: Mmm-hmm.

Niles: Can we at least hide Dad's handicapped sign? It sends a clear signal that we're incapable of fighting back.
Martin: So do your suspenders.

Frasier: Oh, Niles, to what do we owe this pleasure?
Niles: To an unscrupulous art dealer who's trying to rob me blind. Last night, I was at a gallery opening, and—
Frasier: Niles, is this going to be a long story?
Niles: Moderately.
Frasier: Walk and talk.
Niles: Anyway, I was at this opening, in conversation, when I made a rather emphatic point about pointillism, when I lost the grip on my canapé and found that it became airborne. Well, the next thing I know I'm being confronted by an irate gallery owner who's demanding I reimburse him for the damage to one of his paintings. How he could notice a fleck of foie gras on a Jackson Pollock is beyond me.

Niles: He's crushed the gentleman's hand, and now he appears to be commandeering his newsstand.
Martin: Uh-huh.

Martin: You're worrying too much. I was on a focus group once.
Frasier: That sound you hear is a nail being hammered into my coffin.
Martin: They were trying out a new frozen snack. It was a meatball with the cheese injected right in the middle. [Niles covers his mouth]
Frasier: Just as nature intended.

Niles: [on the phone] Dr. Niles Crane. Ah. So, you have the estimate? What? Four thousand dollars, to remove a minuscule gobbet of duck liver?! I could do the same thing with a Q-tip and some club seltzer!

Niles: Oh, please, I have enough aggravation without having to listen to a stupid talk show. Honestly, I swear, the only life forms lower than the people who appear on those shows are the ones who watch them.
Daphne: Like me?
Niles: What? Oh, no, I didn't realize-
Daphne: No, no, no, that's quite all right. Although I do find it interesting that I get criticized for listening to people's problems, when all you do is get rich from it.
Niles: Surely, Daphne, even you can see the difference between cheap sensationalism and the practice of psychiatry.
Daphne: Oh, "even me?" As in, "even feeble-minded Daphne?!" Well, I'll tell you what I can tell the difference between: a true gentleman and a condescending prig!
Niles: I am not!
Daphne: He said priggishly.
Niles: Forgive me if I'm not as down to earth as you and your tattooed, muumuu-wearing brethren!
Daphne: You pompous twit!
Niles: Couch zombie!
Daphne: Snob!
Niles: Brat!
Daphne: Oh, shut up!
Niles: No, you shut up!
Martin: I'm glad we turned off the TV.
Daphne: Oh, Dr. Crane, I'm so sorry. I'm just so upset at Joe. I didn't mean a word of it.
Niles: Daphne, I apologize-
Daphne: Oh, no, it was my fault-
Niles: I called you a couch zombie-
Daphne: No, please-
Niles: [offers hand] Friends?
Daphne: [shaking] Oh, of course.