Blanche: Get away from me, you bloodhounds. I have nothing to say to you. Except this: From now on, when my name appears in print, it had better read "Blanche Devereaux, 39".

Blanche: Oh, I do love the rain so. It reminds me of my first kiss.
Dorothy: Aw, your first kiss was in the rain.
Blanche: No, it was in the shower.

Blanche: What day is this? I've been up for 72 hours. I had a breakthrough. I discovered a new form of writing. I will go down in history. First I wrote all day, then I tore it all up, and then that night it came to me, and the words poured forth like liquid from a stream. It was almost a mystical experience. Somebody else was writing this.
Rose: Who?
Blanche: Everyman. This is everyman's work. It's all gold. Just open it anywhere and the magic will touch you. But I'm so tired. I must sleep. And I cannot sleep. I am too tired to sleep. I will never sleep again. I may die from this. What am I gonna do? My God, I'm hallucinating. I see little balls of sunshine in a bag. Does this mean something?
Rose: Those are egg yolks, Blanche.
Blanche: My brain's gone. My body is limp with exhaustion. I suppose all the greats knew this feeling. And the thing is, after all this I've decided not to sell my book. It's too good to sell. They can publish it after I'm dead, like Vincent van Gogh.
Dorothy: Van Gogh was a painter, Blanche.
Blanche: Whatever. It's all the same thing. We're all artists. We're all misunderstood. He cut off his hair. Maybe I'll cut off mine.
Dorothy: He cut off his ear.
Blanche: I have too many earrings.

Sophia: What's with this guy? He must be blind as a bat.
Blanche: There are lots of ways you can trick a man into thinkin' you're younger than you really are. You wear sunglasses, put on a little extra makeup, go to dimly lit restaurants.
Rose: We've all done that.
Blanche: Fly to Nevada to get a fake birth certificate. Have a phony high school yearbook printed up. Change the dates on your parents' graves.
Dorothy: We've all done that.

Dorothy: I'm gonna do it, Ma. This is my shot. They're taking applications beginning Monday morning. I am going to be the first in line.
Blanche: Make that second.
Dorothy: What are you talking about, Blanche? You've never cared about Jeopardy.
Blanche: No, but I do care for Alex Trebek. You see, I've never had a Canadian who wasn't on skates.
Dorothy: I'm sorry. I didn't know.
Blanche: I have this recurring fantasy. "Take me, Alex. Take me, now," I tell him. And he says to me, "Ah, ah, ah, Blanche. In the form of a question."

Blanche: This is the last time I ever date a doctor. Imagine dumping me for an emergency appendectomy! I just hate it when doctors use the Hippocratic oath as an excuse for everything.
Dorothy: Blanche, it was his appendix.

Blanche: Well, I can't help it. There's something about a man in a Santa Claus suit that drives me absolutely crazy. Maybe it's the warmth of all that red, hot, sweaty flannel. Set against the austere coldness of those black patent leather jackboots. Or maybe it's because those rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes bespeak a passion that is about to erupt from a man who just spent a cold, Ionely year cooped up with a pack of dwarves. I'm not sure. All I know is the sight of a Santa sets my body aflame with unbridled desire.

Blanche: Anyway, I was about eight years old when I first met Cathy Lee on the playground. We became fast friends, just as thick as Louisiana blackstrap molasses on a stake of johnnycakes as high as an elephant's knee...
Dorothy: On a riverboat floating down the Mississippi delta. Finish the damn story, Blanche!
Blanche: Anyway, it was at our Southern seafood fry that I proudly dragged Cathy Lee over to meet my folks. Well, my mama took one look at Cathy Lee and forbad me ever to see her again.
Rose: Why?
Blanche: Because her mother was not in the Daughters of the Confederacy. Oh! How my heart went out to little Cathy Lee, standing there while our servants snickered at her servants. But Mama insisted I break off the friendship, or I wouldn't get brand-new riding boots for Christmas. So I did.
Dorothy: Blanche, why is this a story about acceptance?
Blanche: Oh, because years later, to get back at me, Cathy Lee slept with my daddy. That was something I had to accept. Mama accepted it, too. Along with a brand-new Cadillac Eldorado for her birthday. You know, my family had a few dollars, and I loved them dearly, but when you get right down to it, basically, they were trash.

Blanche: Rose, you're my friend so I'm gonna let you read a few pages, but you have to give me your word you won't tell anyone. Your word.
Rose: Of course. And then will you sleep?
Blanche: Whatever. I can trust you, I know I can. You're from Minnesota. People from Minnesota are honest. They don't lie. What could you possibly find to lie about on a farm? Must be some state. Lots of lakes and nice, pale people. I'd drown myself. Read, Rose. Don't talk. I must publish a guide to go with my book. It's too full of references people could not possibly understand. It will be taught in universities. Rose, what is this? Yellow eyeballs are staring at me.
Rose: Those are egg yolks, Blanche. Blanche, you are exhausted.
Blanche: You have to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream. My God, what a wonderful line. Oh! I'm getting so good I can't stand it. I ought to write that in my book, that line.

Dorothy: Rose, I am not going. It is degrading.
Blanche: Dorothy, come on now. Don't be a stick-in-the-mud. It's for the Children's Hospital. I mean, if you can't degrade yourself for a bunch of sick kids, who can you degrade yourself for?