Lois: Does it have to be so hot? It's, like, 95 degrees in here.
Gorga: Yes, we'll turn on the air-conditioning and let the tart collapse so you can live like a movie star.
Marica: Let's see how you did.
Lois: No, it's not done yet. I was nine hours into it when you made me start over because the almonds weren't facing Vadutz.
Gorga: You made vomit.
Ida: The Saint killed our enemies, then went to hell to ask Jesus to increase the severity of their punishment, and you reward him with vomit?
Marica: You might as well wipe yourself with the beard of the Most Holy Patriarch.
Lois: Why is my tart vomit?
Ida: Stop your temper tantrum!
Gorga: Look here. The 15th layer you put apricots. Is that correct?
Ida: The Saint didn't slaughter the peacemakers on the 15th. He waited till the 16th when they trusted him.
Lois: This thing has, like, 35 layers. Who's gonna know where the apricots are?
Gorga: So if you steal and no one knows, that makes it okay?
Ida: I taught her better than that, till my arm was going to fall off.
Gorga: She has to start over.
Lois: What? This is ridiculous. [the ladies stub their cigarettes out in Lois's tart]
Gorga: Don't blame yourself, Ida.
Ida: She was born rotten. That's why the goat refused to breast-feed her.
Lois: Can I at least have a rag to tie around my head to keep the sweat out of my eyes?
Gorga: Yes, Your Majesty.