Blanche: Do you want to be buried or cremated?
Rose: Neither.
Blanche: What do you want to be, flushed down the toilet like a goldfish?
Rose: I wouldn't want to be cremated. I hate heat. And burial? I hate small spaces. I'm a little claustrophobic.
Blanche: Rose, you're not gonna know anything. You're gonna be dead.
Rose: Oh. Well, then, burial, I guess. But will you promise to put a blanket in with me?
Blanche: Why?
Rose: Oh, I'd just feel more comfortable cozier. And I'd want my pictures of Charlie and the animals. You know, the ones in the little silver frames. And-And my pictures of the children. And, of course, if I'm married again, I'd want a picture of my new husband. And the candlesticks Mama gave me-
Blanche: Rose, it's a coffin, not a condo.