Dorothy: You know, Blanche, when my father died, I heard his voice, too, or what I thought was his voice. Honey, it happens to everybody. It's wishful thinking. We want to hear them, so we do.
Blanche: You don't believe that Grammy's here, that she talks to me.
Dorothy: Of course I do, sweetheart. [in a Southern accent] Blanche, this is your Grammy. Y'all get yourself out of here, you dumb peckerwood.
Rose: Oh, I heard it that time, too. Feets, don't fail me now! [runs out]