Blanche: Am I fat?
Dorothy: What, no, "Hello. Am I fat?"
Blanche: Dorothy, I seriously want to know. Am I fat?
Dorothy: Well, of course not. Oh, this guy Rex is ruining your self-esteem. Did he say that you're fat?
Blanche: Not in so many words. But I am starting to wonder whether "barrel-butt" is really a term of endearment.

Blanche: Dorothy, will you stop it? This has nothing to do with me. Maybe Rex is right. Maybe I have gained a few pounds. Maybe I could try a little harder.
Dorothy: You are buying right into this.
Blanche: What makes you such an expert on relationships? This is male/female stuff. This is what I know. If I need advice on jigsaw puzzles, I'll come to you.

Miles: Rose, here are the poems I was going to read. Why don't you look them over? We'll discuss them the next time we're all together.
Blanche: So long.
Miles: Bye, Blanche.
Blanche: [to Dorothy] Actually, I was describing the evening.

Blanche: Oh, and look here, Dorothy. This is my grandmother Marcelle Daboval. Pure Southern, through and through.
Dorothy: Oh, Blanche, I'm sorry. I just don't like the idea of this club. I mean, it seems so discriminatory.
Blanche: Dorothy, there is nothing wrong with being proud of what you are. This club celebrates those individuals who can prove they come from 100% Southern Confederate stock. And if you can't, then fiddle-di-doo to you.

Blanche: Time for today's sensible meal. Where's my tuna quiche? You heard me. I said, where's my tuna quiche? I get 5 ounces of solid food a day, and I want my tuna quiche.
Rose: You mean that little pie?
Blanche: Little pie? Little pie?
Rose: I wanted a snack.
Blanche: A snack?!
Rose: I thought it was a little fishy.
Blanche: Oh, you ate my sensible meal. You ate my sensible meal! [shakes Rose]

Dorothy: Oh, Blanche, honey, how was your date last night?
Blanche: Oh, unforgettable. Mel Bushman and I were coming back from a champagne picnic at Sunset Beach. We ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere.
Rose: Oh, my goodness! What did you do?
Blanche: You name it.

[flashback:]
Bob: Actually, my brother Arnie dragged me out tonight. This is my first date.
Blanche: You mean, your first date ever?
Bob: That's right. I've never been with a woman. Well, not in the biblical sense. Whoops, there I go again. You can take the boy out of the seminary...
Blanche: Let me get this straight. Um... You've never... Never, ever?
Bob: Not once.
Blanche: Have you even thought about it?
Bob: Only all the time. To be honest, I've never even seen a naked lady.
Blanche: So what we're saying here is, you're a virgin?
Bob: A virgin.
Blanche: Oh, God. This brings out the artist in me.

Dorothy: Wait a minute. None of this proves that Miles is even thinking of cheating on Rose.
Blanche: You're absolutely right, Dorothy. And that is why I have hired a detective to follow Miles and find out for sure! Happy birthday, honey!
Dorothy: A detective? You're giving the gift of suspicion?
Blanche: That's right. He's gonna follow Miles everywhere he goes for the next two weeks. Oh, and if you really love any of the pictures, you can get 'em in wallet size.

Blanche: Rose, you don't understand. You cannot wear something that Miles sees you in all the time. Honey, this is fantasy. You have to dress up to please him. Now, maybe I can help you come up with a costume. What's he like?
Rose: Well, he's serious, and conservative, and concerned about the world around him.
Blanche: I know, a nursie. He'd like a nursie.

Dorothy: I am home, dear, dear friends. What a glorious night!
Blanche: Dorothy Zbornak, I just hate you. There you go again, rubbing it in, how I'm having a sex drought and you're having a bumper crop.
Dorothy: And I'm expecting more rain.