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FRASIER: Go ahead, Tom. I'm listening. TOM: Hi, Dr.Crane. Uh, it's about my girlfriend. My problem is I don't know if I love her for herself or because things are so great between us physically. FRASIER: Well, Tom, distinguishing between passion and lasting love isn't easy, especially in the initial stages of a relationship. How long have you been together? TOM: Six years. FRASIER: And the sex is still that good? TOM: Man, Dr. Crane, every morning, night, and three times a day on weekends. But I'm not sure we have much else in common. FRASIER: Well...sharing common interests in the foundation of...three times, you say? TOM: Is that abnormal? FRASIER: No, it's not abnormal. It's not fair, but it's not abnormal. May be you two share more interests that you think. Tomorrow why don't you bring home a catalog from the local university and see if you can't find a couple of classes in which you'd both be interested. TOM: That's a good idea. Thanks, Doc. Have a great weekend. FRASIER: I'd wish you the same but that hardly seems necessary.
FRASIER, on Maris' 112 unpaid parking tickets: What do you expect from a woman who thinks a chocolate allergy entitles her to use a handicapped space.
NILES: Oh, dear, look at the time. I have a session with my multiple personality. Well, not to worry. If I'm late, he can just talk amongst himself.
FRASIER, to caller: And while I agree that washing his hands twenty to thirty times a day would be considered obsessive-compulsive behavior, bear in mind that your husband is a coroner. Thanks for your call, Jeanine. Whom do we have next, Roz?
FRASIER, on Diane: I met a lovely, if somewhat loquacious, barmaid, fell madly in love, and got engaged. Of course, she left me standing at the altar. But the point is I didn't give up. I took my poor, battered heart and offered it to Lilith who put it in her little Cuisinart and hit the puree button.
NILES: It's your turn. I apologized first last time. FRASIER: No you didn't. NILES: I did so. I remember clearly. It was after the shouting match at the Monet exhibit. I had my secretary leave a heartfelt apology with your service.
NILES: The man's a compulsive womanizer. He goes through so many women, he calls them all by the same odious nickname, "Sunshine," to avoid slipups. Frasier, what do you do when you don't like a patient? FRASIER: Well, it's a tricky issue. How long have you been treating him? NILES: Six months and we've made no progress whatsoever. Sometimes I feel he comes to me not so much to be helped, as to brag. He claims to have been with, at last count, one hundred and fifty women. FRASIER: A hundred and fifty? NILES: As though anything over, say…seven isn't absurd. FRASIER: I would say eleven, but I get your point.
NILES, hearing Lilith is in town: How strange-I usually get some sign when Lilith is in town: dogs forming into packs, blood weeping from the walls.
FRASIER: She's not like the old Diane-convinced the whole world revolves around her. And I'm not the same Frasier. The last few years have drained me of all my old animosities. People do change, Dad. MARTIN: You're right, they do. Take me for instance. The old Martin would have said, "You're out of your mind. I'd rather see you go gay and shack up with the punk who shot me that go off with her. I'd rather see you sewed inside the body of a dead horse. But the new Martin says "Viva l'amour." FRASIER: The new Frasier resists the temptation to correct your French.
LILITH, in a hot moment: You're the only man I've ever loved! FRASIER: So are you!
FRASIER: Dear God, shoppers are marauding through here like packs of feral dogs. Did you see that woman? She practically knocked me over to get to the escalator. NILES: How about that woman near the cosmetics counter who tried to Mace me? FRASIER: That was a cologne sample, Niles. That's what they do.
FRASIER: If you were stranded on an island, what would you choose as your favorite meal, aria, and wine? NILES: The Coulibiac of Salmon at Guy Savoy. "Vissa d'arte" from Tosca. And the Cotes du Rhone, Chateau Neuf du Pape, '47 FRASIER: You're so predictable.
MARTIN, on Niles and Frasier as kids: If one of you had something, the other one always had to have it too. I had to buy to Balinese lutes, two decoupage kits, two pairs of lederhosen....When you finally left home that was one embarassing garage sale.
FRASIER: I'm Dr. Frasier Crane. This is my brother Dr. Niles Crane, the eminent psychiatrist. NILES: My brother's too kind. He was already eminent when my eminence was merely imminent.
MARTIN: I remember taking you in for your first allergy shots. You were about five or six. God, you were so scared. I remember holding your hand. You'd bend over the table and drop your little drawers, and as the nurse gave you the injection, you'd take your mind off it by reciting the names of all of Puccini's operas in chronological order. FRASIER: Now I know why I always get a sharp pain in my buttocks whenever I hear Turandot.
FRASIER: Once a woman has dipped her toe in Crane Lake, dry land is never the same again. They don't fall often, but when they do, they fall hard.
MAN: I've got a catamaran moored in the harbor. Why don't we ditch out of here and you and me go for a midnight cruise? DAPHNE: Oh, well, thank you, but I think I'd rather be stripped naked, oiled up, and thrown into a South American prison. MAN: Hey, I'm flexible.
FRASIER, to precocious son Frederick on the phone: Now son, calm down...Listen to Daddy...it was just a dream....No, I promise you. Senator Thurmond is not in your closet. Now go back to bed....I love you too. See you this weekend. (Beat) No, you may not stay up to watch Crossfire tonight. Good night.
NILES: Hello, Seattlites. This is Dr. Niles Crane, filling in for my brother, Dr. Frasier Crane. Although I feel perfectly qualified to fill his radio shoes, I should warn you that while Frasier is Freudian, I am Jungian, so there'll be no blaming mother today. Roz, who's my first caller?
NILES, on Roz's promiscuity: She's had more men serve under her than General Schwartzkopf.
FRASIER, complaining about focus groups' commenting on his radio show: Imagine Freud being hauled into a roomful of Viennese laymen offering comments like "Hate the Oedipal thing. Love the penis envy."
FRASIER: Daphne, how old do you think I look? DAPHNE: Oh no, I'm not getting into that Vietnam. I've learned to never answer three questions: "How old do I look?" "Does this dress make me look fat?" and "Was that as good for you as it was for me?"
MARTIN: His wife had a gigantic rear end. Enormous. I mean, this woman must have had to get in the bathtub face down….and you couldn't miss the thing. It looked like she was shoplifting throw pillows.
MARTIN: It seems like I'm always being told to get my fee of the furniture, put a coaster under my beer, turn the TV down, I used to make the rules, now I've got to follow them. Is any of this making sense? FRASIER: From a psychological standpoint, it's making perfect sense. Slowly, over the years, your responsibilities have been taken from you and, in a way, you feel symbolically castrated. MARTIN: Why does everything with you shrinks start in the crotch?
NILES: I'd like a petite filet mignon, very lean, not so lean that it lacks flavor, but not so fat that it leaves drippings on the plate, and I don't want it cooked, just lightly seared on either side, pink in the middle, not a true pink but not a mauve either, something in between, bearing in mind the slightest error either way and it's ruined.
NILES: And then she said she's been seeing someone else, that she couldn't live a lie anymore. I was dumbfounded. What about everything we'd gone through together? Didn't that mean anything to her? I'm devastated, just devastated. FRASIER: Niles, a patient has a right to change therapists. NILES: Yes, but this is the third one who's terminated this year. I've used up two bottles of whiteout on my appointment book.
NILES: Love's a funny thing, isn't it? I mean, sometimes it's exciting and passionate, and sometimes it's something else. Something comfortable and familiar. That newly exfoliated little face staring up at you across the breakfast table, or sharing a little laugh together when you see someone wearing white after Labor Day.
FRASIER: Are you in love with Daphne? NILES: That's preposterous! I refuse to dignify that question with an answer. (Niles stirs his coffee while Frasier stares at him.) NILES (snaps) I don't know! There. I've said it. Are you happy? Oh, why couldn't you have just hired some beefy, Eastern European scrubwoman who reeked of ammonia instead of Venus herself? FRASIER: I asked, but it was an Olympic year. The agency was fresh out. NILES: I can't get her out of my mind. You probably haven't noticed, but sometimes, just to be near her, I make up silly excuses to come over to your house. FRASIER: Yes, I began to suspect that when you dropped by yesterday to remind us to always buckle our seat belts.
NILES: Ever since the separation I've been paying women to touch me. FRASIER: You can't mean…? NILES: Manicurists, pedicurist, facialists…Whenever you see a man who's well groomed, you can bet he's not getting any.
FRASIER: Hello, Niles. Thanks for coming over on such short notice. NILES: No problem. I welcome the chance to sneak out of the house for a while. Maris fell asleep doing her needlepoint and she's snoring like Bluto. Hello, Dad. Hello, Daphne. DAPHNE: Hello, Dr. Crane. NILES: Actually, I was just in the middle of my workout, but I can always pump iron later. FRASIER: Pump iron? Niles, you've never even pumped your own gas. NILES, sniffing Daphne's perfume: Is that "Forbidden"? FRASIER: In every sense of the word!
NILES: Excuse me, has there been a young woman in here this evening approximately five foot nine and three-quarters with skin the color of Devonshire cream and the sort of eyes that gaze directly into one's soul with neither artifice nor evasion?
DAPHNE: There's nothing quite as exciting as a first date. You're both so full of questions. What's you favorite food? Do you have brothers or sisters? If you came back as an animal, what sort of animal would you be?
MARTIN: I think I need more comfortable shoes. My dogs are killing me. DAPHNE: Pardon? MARTIN: My dogs-my feet. What do you call'em in England? DAPHNE: Well, mostly we call our body parts by their rightful names. Except my Uncle Harold. He named parts of his anatomy on the Queen's Pins. He sat on the Duchess of Kent. He was quite a jolly fellow. That is until Aunt Kate caught him introducing the Prince of Wales to a cocktail waitress.
FRASIER, heated, to Daphne: The day I give a fig what you think is the day England produces a great chef, a world class wine, and a car with a decent electrical system!
FRASIER: Niles, you'll never believe what thriving Seattle night spot is closing its doors. NILES: Roz, you're moving?
ROZ: We got to talking. His name's Gary, and we're really connecting….All of a sudden, a bunch of people want to get off the bus, and I'm in their way, so I get off justto let them out and before I can get back on, the damn bus drives off. Out of my life forever! FRASIER: I'm sure another one would've come along in ten minutes. ROZ: I'm talking about the guy. FRASIER: So am I.
FRASIER: Remember you once though the 1812 Overture was a great piece of classical music? NILES: Was I ever that young?
FRASIER: I'm Dr. Frasier Crane. This is my brother Dr. Niles Crane, the eminent psychiatrist. NILES: My brother's too kind. He was already eminent when my eminence was merely imminent.
NILES: So we decided to play a little prank on the president of the wine club. At last night's tasting when he thought he was tasting a Chateau Petrus, he was is fact sipping a Forcas Dupre. You see, we'd switched the labels. FRASIER: Niles, when you someday go up to heaven and you have to justify your life to St. Peter, don't tell him that story. NILES: We were just trying to be funny. But, as so often happens, roughhouse leads to tears. FRASIER: What happened? NILES: He didn't notice the difference. FRASIER: Between a Forcas and a Petrus? The president of the club? NILES: Impeachment proceedings begin next week.
FRASIER, on Maris: I like her from a distance. You know, the way you like the sun. Maris is like the sun…except without the warmth.
FRASIER, on the symbolism of Niles' chess games with Maris: No wonder. Tha king remains stationary while the queen has all the power.
NILES, on the inability of a cold shower to get sex off his mind: It's obviously an old wives' tale because I'm still thinking of my old wife's tail. FRASIER: I suppose it was ill-advised. Being showered with coldness could only bring Maris more to mind.
NILES: Well, this has been kind of fun, but I must really run. I'm conducting a seminar for multiple personality disorders and it takes me forever to fill out the name tags.
