Carla: If you can’t say anything nice, say it about Diane.
Norm: It’s a dog eat dog world, and I’m wearing Milkbone underwear.
Frasier: I’ve been taking stock of myself.
Carla: Not exactly AT&T, is it?
Diane: Sam, may I have a brief word with you?
Sam: I suppose you could, but I doubt it.
Norm: Women. You can’t live with ’em. Pass the beernuts.
Cliff: What a pathetic display. I’m ashamed God made me a man.
Carla: I don’t think God’s doing a lot of bragging either.
Carla: What are you all sitting around here like a bunch of wimps for?
Norm: It’s what wimps do.
Rebecca: You know, I really think I can put together a great Thanksgiving dinner. This’ll be the second one that I’ve cooked, and believe me, the first one was not the disaster that my family said it was. Those kids had a pretty good time in that ambulance.
Cliff: Did I ever tell you kids about the first Thanksgiving? It took place between the ancient Egyptains and aliens from a distant galaxy.
Woody Boyd: Oh, oh, Miss Howe. Wait. I’m recycling glass bottles. I want this world to be clean for our children. I mean, my children… or your children… or our children. But seeing as how you got a date with someone else tonight, it seems like a long shot.
Rebecca Howe: Woody, you’re so good and I’m so bad. I feel guilty and ashamed. I feel like killing myself.
Woody Boyd: (hands her a business card) I also volunteer for a suicide hotline. We do good things.
Woody: Jack Frost nipping at your toes, Mr. Peterson?
Norm: Yeah, now let’s get Joe Beer nipping at my liver.
Sam: To me, our relationship makes perfect sense. You want me to propose to you, I propose to you. You say no, I say fine, I never wanna see you again. You drive me nuts telling me you want me to propose again, I do, you turn me down. Next thing I know I’m in a court of law where I’ve got to propose to you or go to jail. It’s the classic American love story.
Sam: What’ll you have Normie?
Norm: Well, I’m in a gambling mood Sammy. I’ll take a glass of whatever comes out of that tap.
Sam: Looks like beer, Norm.
Norm: Call me Mister Lucky.
Woody: Hey Mr. Peterson, there’s a cold one waiting for you.
Norm: I know. If she calls, I’m not here.
Woody: Pour you a beer, Mr. Peterson?
Norm: Alright, but stop me at one. Make that one-thirty.
Woody: Would you like a beer, Mr. Peterson?
Norm: No, I’d like a dead cat in a glass.