Sophia: Picture it. Sicily, 1912. A beautiful, young peasant girl with clear, olive skin meets an exciting but penniless Spanish artist. There's an instant attraction. They laugh, they sing. They slam down a few boilermakers. Shortly afterwards, he's arrested for showing her how he can hold his palette without using his hands. But I digress. He paints her portrait and they make passionate love. She spends much of the next day in the shower with a loofah sponge, scrubbing his fingerprints off her body. She sees the portrait and is insulted. It looks nothing like her. And she storms out of his life forever. That peasant girl was me and that painter was Pablo Picasso.
Dorothy: Ma, I have a feeling you're lying.
Rose: Be positive, Dorothy.
Dorothy: OK, I'm positive you're lying.

Blanche: I used to attract men who were young and active and virile, but now they just want to date girls in their 20s and 30s. What's a great-looking gal in her 40s to do?
Dorothy: Perhaps we should find one and ask her.

Rose: Dorothy, in times like these, you have to hold onto your faith, just like Hans Gluckenflunken, St. Olaf's greatest explorer.
Dorothy: Rose, please, let me have a little recovery time before you start a St. Olaf story.
Rose: You see, Hans Gluckenflunken set out for Florida to find the Fountain of Intelligence. Unfortunately, when he got to Duluth, he took a left instead of a right and he wound up back in St. Olaf. That's how he got his nickname, Wrong Way Gluckenflunken.
Dorothy: Rose, how is this a story about faith?
Rose: Well, when he got back, it was the dead of winter. Tired and hungry, but still clinging to his belief that he would find the Fountain of Intelligence, he saw the miracle water trickling out of the ground, and he fell to his knees and tasted it. Unfortunately, it was a broken sewer main. Two days later, he died of cholera.
Dorothy: What is the point, Rose?
Rose: He was positive he had found the Fountain of Intelligence. In fact, his dying words were, "I think I've learned something from this."

Blanche: Oh, Dorothy, you always give me the best advice about men. Who says wisdom comes from experience?

Rose: Hi, girls. What a great day. I feel so terrific. It's like life is a giant weenie roast and I'm the biggest weenie.
Sophia: No argument from this corner.

Dorothy: Oh, Rose, listen. I'm not going to the meeting tonight.
Rose: How come?
Dorothy: I'm not comfortable there. I'm not comfortable with the people. I'm not comfortable with the whole thing.
Rose: But you need the group's support, Dorothy. It's not a good idea to go it alone. Did I ever tell you about my cousin Vigdor Fricken? He tried to go it alone in a three-legged race. Well, you know what happened to him?
Dorothy: Please. Please, Rose. I don't want to hear about your frickin' cousin.

Rose: How about you, Sophia? Remember, today is the first day of the rest of your life.
Sophia: Terrific. If I'm lucky, I may live to be seven.

Dorothy: Ma, I hate to admit it, but there may be something to Rose's positive-thinking course. Last night I decided to write down all the negative thoughts that come into my head, and Ma, I cannot believe how many there are. I mean, just listen to this, right here on page 187: "The faucet is dripping. I know it's gonna keep me up all night. Then I'll be tired for my crummy job tomorrow. Life is a swirling eddy of despair." I mean, I can't believe that something as insignificant as a leaky faucet could bring all these bad thoughts about myself.
Sophia: It's a very serious thing, Dorothy.
Dorothy: Ma, what can I do about it?
Sophia: Try changing the washer.

Blanche: Oh, Dorothy, by any chance, did you borrow my pearl-handled six-shooter?
Dorothy: Blanche, you look ridiculous.
Blanche: Well, I do not. I'm a cowgirl. Yippee-aye-oh K-Y.
Dorothy: Ki-yay.

Blanche: Have you seen my gun?
Dorothy: No.
Blanche: Damn!
Blanche: What's the point in wearing this if I've got nothing to put in it?
Sophia: I say the same thing every morning when I put on my bra.