O'Brien: Okay...put a five right here, and it has to be an eight, down here. No--bloody heck, there's aready one, that row! Wait...but that means the three I put here was--SHOOT! Bashir: Need any help, Chief, let me know. Odo: So you confess to kicking down the doors to Quark's, grabbing his most prized stash of Aldeberan Whiskey, and throwing said crate full-throttle into the dabo table, blowing both to smithereens? Kira: What are you gonna do about it? Odo: Thank you for saving me the trouble. Jake: DANGIT, DOC, I'M A WAR REPORTER, FOR PETE'S SAKE! Bashir: THIS IS A WAR! AGAINST THE ELEMENTS! O'Brien: Here, sir. What's the problem? Sisko: Online RPGs. Morn found himself appealing to the Prophets that this did not involve another apology....
Bashir: "Leave it to you. You find a photo of a hundred-breasted species, and the first thing you do is count them." O'Brien: "Shut up. I'm already up to 89, and you're gonna mess me up." Morn: "That Earth show Cheers is my favorite, and the character Morn is my idol." Worf: "That's Norm, not Morn, you munskull."
Odo: "According to this analysis, your managerial pose is nonpareil, so there's no question you're destined for greatness." Jake: "So remind me--you're a doctor and your reason for not packing sunglasses was what?" Sisko: "Can't you see not to bother these ladies? They're watching their stories."