M*A*S*H, Season 11

Charles:
I'm afraid there is the possibility-slim though it be-that I...snore.

Mulcahy:
Snore. Oh. Good heavens, Major. What...courage it took to admit that.

Charles:
Well, Father, I'm afraid you don't understand. See, all my life I've harbored a secret dread that I may not be worthy of my name, that I may not be good enough to be a Winchester. What if all this malarkey is true, that I do...snore like a common factory worker? What if that's just the tip of the iceberg? What if there are even more vulgar traits lurking just underneath the surface? Today...snoring. Tomorrow, sitting in front of a TV with a cold brew watching roller derby. What if-perish the thought-I am actually the same as everybody else? I couldn't live with that.

Mulcahy:
Speaking as one whose ancestors were factory workers and who likes roller derby and a good brew, do I understand you to say that if you can't be better that me, then there's no point in living?

Charles:
Well, don't take it personally, Father.

Mulcahy:
Why should I take it personally? By the way, did I ever tell you about the time I was thrown out of the seminary dorm for snoring?

Charles:
Uh...

Mulcahy:
The truth of the matter is you're not superior to any of us whether you snore or not.

Charles:
Shh!

Mulcahy:
And at times like this, I'm not even sure you're equal.