Carla Tortelli-LeBec: Can you believe this guy, winning twelve million bucks in the lottery. I mean, talk about beating the odds.
Woody Boyd: Oh, yeah, you wanna talk about beating the odds? My Uncle Spence fell twenty thousand feet from an airplane, and hit the only pile of hay for two miles.
Norm Peterson: Geez, he's the luckiest man on Earth.
Woody Boyd: Well, not really. He went through the propeller first.
Woody Boyd: What's a Freudian slip?
Cliff Clavin: Why, it's when you say one thing when you're actually thinking about a mother.
Cliff Clavin: You see, Tiny, uh, you know, calling you Tiny, a guy of your, you know, girth, is what we in the comedy profession call a juxtaposition. Right? Juxtaposition! You see, it's like calling a bald guy Curly, a fat guy Slim, a tall guy...
[Cliff waits for an answer from Tiny, which isn't forthcoming]
Cliff Clavin: ...Shorty!
Tiny the Bouncer: I like that. You're Smart.
Cliff Clavin: Why, thank you.
Tiny the Bouncer: No, that's your new nickname. Get it?
[Lilith has bad news for Frasier]
Dr. Frasier Crane: I know, I'll simply imagine the worst thing you could possibly tell me, and whatever your news is, it will pale by comparison. In fact, whatever it is, it'll be a relief. OK, OK, uh, what is the worst thing I can imagine?
[Frasier stops to think]
Dr. Frasier Crane: All right, I've got it. Lilith, your news please.
Dr. Lilith Sternin-Crane: This afternoon, in a moment of extreme weakness, I cheated on you.
Dr. Frasier Crane: [gets up and yells] That was it! That was the worst thing!