Sophia: Quality time has to come naturally. It happens when you're not thinking about it. Like when we're cutting vegetables together. That's quality time.
Dorothy: I was hoping for something a little more magical than that.
Sophia: Let me tell you a little story. When I was a kid in Sicily, I loved lightning bugs. I'd stand out in the field and watch them light up the night sky. That was magical. That was spectacular. I tell you, I saw a thousand points of light. It was a kinder, gentler America. I turned to my wife, Barbara, and I said-
Dorothy: Ma, what the hell are you talking about?
Sophia: Oh. Sorry, I must have lapsed into George Bush's inauguration speech. Where was I?
Dorothy: Lightning bugs.
Sophia: Right. I liked them so much, I'd catch them in glass jars so I could watch them light up whenever I wanted, but they always died.
Dorothy: I see what you mean. They needed their freedom.
Sophia: No, they needed their air. I always forgot to punch holes in the lid. The point is it's the same with all magical moments. You can't capture them forever, no matter what Kodak tells you.
Dorothy: So what you're saying, Ma, is that, like a lightning bug, I put you in a glass jar and, waiting for you to light up, I nearly suffocated you.
Sophia: Jeez, Dorothy, you sure know how to beat a metaphor to death.