Blanche: This is horrible. As Big Daddy used to say, "I'm feeling lower than the rent on a burnin' building."
Rose: That's funny. I used to live in a burning building. And it was cheap. It was Charlie's and my first house. Well, scoff if you must, but it was warm and toasty. I'll never forget Charlie throwing me over his shoulder and dashing across the threshold. Oh, it was a beautiful place. Three bedrooms, two baths. Then two bedrooms and one bath. Eventually, we outgrew the place.

Dorothy: Rose, honey, there's no reason to be upset about Henny Penny. Fairy tales just show kids how complicated life can be, and it does it on their terms.
Blanche: I remember when I first read Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, it had a profound influence on me. Seven lonely men livin' in the woods, needin' a woman. All of 'em with Napoleon complexes, somethin' to prove.
Dorothy: And jobs, Blanche. They all had jobs.
Blanche: In a diamond mine.

Dorothy: We're doing Henny Penny. You know, "Help, help! The sky is falling."
Blanche: Oh, that was never one of my favorites. There's no prince in it. I like a fairy tale with a nice prince in it. A handsome prince with a big ol' codpiece and deep dark eyes and powerful thighs and muscles rippling beneath his tunic.
Dorothy: Blanche, you could get aroused by "Humpty Dumpty."
Blanche: Are you kiddin'? "All the king's horses and all the king's men." Handsome men with deep dark eyes and powerful thighs and muscles and big ol' codpieces.
Dorothy: Blanche, how do you make it through an omelet?

Dorothy: Mail call. Ah, Ma. Here's a letter for you from Palermo.
Sophia: Oh, it's the latest chess move from my old rival Serafina Gambrotsi.
Dorothy: Ma, how long has this chess game by mail been going on? What, it must be ten years now, huh?
Sophia: And it's going to keep on going until I beat Serafina at something.
Dorothy: What are you talking about?
Sophia: Picture it. Sicily, 1920. Serafina and I were both crazy about Marco the Goat Boy. In appearance, an Adonis. In behavior, horny as a toad. Little did I know he had a thing for hairy fat girls. If I were fatter and hairier, Dorothy, Marco the Goat Boy could've been your father.
Dorothy: I think we all grieve. Ma, that was 70 years ago. I was sure you'd forgotten.
Sophia: I forget nothing. So, any mail?

Blanche: Oh my gosh. It's only one week till spring break? And I have so much to do. I have to get new T-shirts for the wet T-shirt contest.

Sophia: 78, yes! 64, yes! 81, yes!
Dorothy: Ma, what are you doing?
Sophia: Reading the obituaries and checking out the people who died younger than I am now. 83, close one.

Sophia: Yes! I've got that tub of guts where I want her. My queen's knight attacks her king. Banzai!
Dorothy: Ma, how did two Sicilian peasant girls ever become interested in chess?
Sophia: Chess is like war, only cheaper. It's the perfect game for Sicily, a country very warlike and dead-ass broke.

Blanche: I'm going down to that newspaper this minute. Not only am I gonna get Chugger fired, if I hurry I can get 'em to print a retraction in this afternoon's edition. 68?
Dorothy: And dead.
Blanche: What are people gonna think?
Sophia: They'll think it's time to elect a new town slut.

Dorothy: You know, I'm actually looking forward to spring break this year.
Sophia: College kids. America's best and brightest are coming to town. It'll be nice to get mooned again.

Sophia: 68, woah.
Blanche: What is it?
Sophia: You.
Blanche: What about me?
Sophia: You're dead.
Blanche: Say what?
Sophia: I told you. You're dead. You must be. It says so in the paper.
Blanche: "Blanche Devereaux. Age 68." [gasps] 68? Oh, that's terrible.
Dorothy: They're almost as far off on your age as you are.