Blanche: I guess maybe I was a little bit too hasty. Baby isn't really all that much trouble. Heck, this is an old nightgown, and, well, he is kind of cute.
Sophia: And he's not the first pig to watch you take ashower, and that's my last pig joke, I swear it.

Sophia: Don't look at me. I'm not going to do it.
Dorothy: Why not?
Sophia: Because what you two are doing is making me sick. Degrading yourself by living with a filthy animal. And for what? Money. It's humiliating. I don't want any part of it.
Dorothy: What if we cut you in?
Sophia: What time does he eat?
Rose: Girls, girls! Come quick, Baby just collapsed.
Sophia: $25,000 in ten seconds, now I know how Johnny Carson feels.

Rose: Does anybody know where the thermometer is?
Dorothy: Sure, in the medicine cabinet. Why?
Rose: I wanna take Baby's temperature. Although, I'm not sure what the normal temperature is for a pig.
Sophia: I know a ham turns out nicely at 325.
Rose: Ohhhh.
Sophia: I'm sorry, Rose, I don't know what I'm talking about. I'm delirious with grief.

Blanche: Well, I'm sure not putting my money into stocks and bonds. Hey, this is found money. This is fun money. This is hot beaches and sweaty men money. Getting naked and rolling around on the ground money.
Dorothy: Even your money has more fun than I do.

Sophia: Boy, it's great being rich.
Dorothy: Oh, I can not believe we spent so much money that we don't have yet.
Sophia: Relax. When I looked in on Baby this morning, he was a half hour away from Sizzilean.

Rose: Oh, it's been great having a pig living in the house. But we can't jeopardize Baby's health, the doctor said so.
Sophia: Please, what does he know? He's not a real doctor. The man makes his living sticking thermometers up a cat's behind.

Blanche: Rose, honey, don't torture yourself. Now, Baby is very, very old. Whenever one of God's creatures outlives its normal life expectancy, why, it can go any minute.
Sophia: Would you mind not looking at me when you say that?

Sophia: Dorothy? Dorothy, I'm going to my bedroom. I want to lie down for a while. [Sophia walks out the front door. Brakes screech, horn honks.]
Dorothy: Ma?
Sophia: Dorothy, who the hell parked a Buick in my bedroom?

Dorothy: Here, honey, I picked up your new glasses.
Sophia: Oh, thank God. Now I can see. Oh, wait a minute. These are no good.
Dorothy: What, are they the wrong prescription?
Sophia: No, the wrong frames. I specifically asked for old lady smoky green. These are black. I look like Buddy Holly.

Sophia: Blanche, you look terrific. You look like you lost 15 pounds.
Blanche: Thank you, Sophia.
Sophia: Oh, that's your thigh. I thought it was part of the couch. Blanche, try to remember, gravy isn't a beverage.