Rose: I remember when I was a little girl back in St. Olaf. There was this old lady who lived up the street. She never smiled. I mean, she always looked angry. The kids said she'd kill anyone who even stepped on her property. We called her Mean Old Lady Higgenlooper.
Blanche: Yeah, kids can be pretty cruel.
Rose: No. That was her name. Mean Old Lady Higgenlooper. She had it changed legally 'cause everybody called her that anyway.
Blanche: Then how come your name isn't Big Dummy?
Rose: Well, there were already three other people in town with that name. But that's beside the point. One day I got up the courage to go up to Mean Old Lady Higgenlooper and ask her why she always frowned. Well, she had been born with no smiling muscles. I pointed out that a frown is just a smile turned upside down. So from then on, whenever I'd go by, she'd stand on her head and wave.

Barbara: Hi, Dorothy, Rose. I certainly hope tonight will help us forget what happened the other night.
Sophia: I already forgot what happened the other night. But then again I'm 82 years old. This morning I forgot my cat's been dead for 20 years. Which makes me wonder: Who's using the kitty litter?

Blanche: Rose, what was your first impression of me?
Rose: I thought you wore too much makeup and were a slut. ... I was wrong. You don't wear too much makeup.

Blanche: Barbara, that is such a stunning brooch. Wherever did you get it?
Barbara: Oh. I was in Morocco working on a novel, not to mention a dashing young Moroccan, when I had a severe attack of writer's block. My head was devoid of all ideas and thoughts.
Rose: That happens to me a lot.
Barbara: Do you write?
Rose: No. Why do you ask?

Dorothy: Barbara's taking me to the experimental theater downtown.
Blanche: Somebody dragged me to a show there one time. Three men paraded around the stage for five hours talking about God and eating graham crackers. They wore masks, but other than that, they were totally naked.
Rose: And you stayed through the whole evening?
Blanche: Well, I would've left, but one of the actors looked so familiar to me. But it was hard to tell since he had such a small part.

Blanche: Barbara, I picked up your first novel the other day.
Barbara: Ah, yes. "So Dark the Waves on Biscayne Bay". I've grown so much as a writer since then.
Blanche: [chuckling] Well, I should hope so.
Dorothy: Blanche.
Barbara: No, it's all right. Did you have a problem with my book, dear?
Blanche: Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. All those waves. Big waves, little waves. Dark waves rolling in. Page after page. I had to take a Dramamine to get through chapter three.
Barbara: Blanche, the waves are a metaphor. You see, a metaphor...
Blanche: I know what a metaphor is, dear. I'm not a dummy.
Rose: Blanche, what's a metaphor?
Blanche: It's when you use a phrase to mean something else. Like when I say, "Men are blinded by my beauty," they're not really blinded. They get their sight back in a day or two.

Barbara: Well, I think I'd better be going to.
Rose: But it's still so early. I thought we could all have a game of oogle and floogle.
Barbara: I don't believe I've ever heard of that.
Rose: We used to play it back in St. Olaf. It's an adult version of hide-and-go-seek.
Barbara: And how does it differ from the children's version?
Rose: Adults play it.

Rose: Dorothy, what happened? Barbara just stormed out of here.
Dorothy: She's not coming back. You know, both of you were right about her. I can't believe that I couldn't see it. Can you ever forgive me?
Blanche: What do you think? Should we give her another chance?
Rose: We better. Best friends are hard to come by. Does this mean you'll go to the masquerade ball?
Dorothy: Yes. And I'll tell you something. After all the practice I have had lately, I'd be honored to be the horse's behind.

Blanche: I don't like Barbara. I think she's a phony.
Dorothy: Oh. This from a woman who tells her dates that she was Angie Dickinson's body double in Dressed to Kill.
Blanche: That's just a little white lie.
Dorothy: Then why is it on your job resumé?

Blanche: Well, Barbara, Dorothy tells us you're an author.
Barbara: No, I'm just a writer. Malamud's an author.
Rose: I thought malamuds were chocolate cookies with marshmallows in the middle.
Dorothy: Those are mallomars, Rose.