Blanche: All right, now, Rose, go on. I don't want dead people in my house.
Dorothy: People, we are talking about one man, who is probably sleeping.
Sophia: You don't think I can recognize death? I lived in a retirement home. Death visited more often than children.

Rose: Oh, poor Al, and he just got a hair transplant.
Blanche: Here's a Beatty in Boca Raton. It's the only one.
Rose: And somebody told me he just bought a farm. Oh, my God. What'll I say to her?
Sophia: That he died in the bed of an idiot.

Rose: Well, I've never had to do this before, tell a wife that her husband's been cheating on her with me. That's the hardest thing to tell anybody.
Blanche: Oh, no, it's not. How about having to tell a pregnant woman that her husband's been cheating on her with her own sister and you're the sister and you're pregnant, too by her husband.
Dorothy: You didn't!
Blanche: Not me! Last night on Dallas. Or Dynasty. Or Falcon's Landing. Or one of those. They're all the same.
Rose: Oh, I thought you were the one.
Blanche: Oh, please. I could never do anything like that. If you saw my brother-in-law, you'd know why.

Rose: We had a neighbor in Minnesota who killed her husband. She backed over him with a combine and she didn't even know she had done it until she found little bits of plaid in the corn. She said, "Funny, that looks like bits of Joe's plaid shirt, and that looks like bits of Joe's overalls, and that looks like bits of Joe's arms and that looks like bits of..."
Blanche: Rose! We get the picture!
Rose: They had a very little coffin-
Blanche: Ah!
Dorothy: Listen, Rose. You are not to blame. Now, you know that.
Rose: Of course I know that. She was driving the combine. I wasn't anywhere near their farm.

Rose: His name was Al Beatty. Her name was Beatty, too. She never married. I suppose I have to tell her.
Blanche: Oh, yes, you do. You cannot let the police tell her. Oh, the night George died, my telephone rang and a highway patrolman said, "Pardon me, ma'am. Do you have a yellow convertible and a husband named George?" I said, "Yes. Good grief, what's happened?" And he said, "Hold on, ma'am." He put me on hold, with that music while you wait. I sat there at two in the morning, listening to Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass. And then after an eternity, he comes back on the line, eating chips. He says, "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm the only one here. My phone's been ringing off the hook." I said, "Officer, what about my husband?" And then he said, crunching his chips, "Oh, he's dead. Wrong way driver hit him head-on. Totally dead, ma'am." Crunch, crunch.
Dorothy: Oh, no!
Blanche: Puts me on hold, and then eats Doritos while he tells me my life is over. Oh, Rose has to tell her. Rose won't eat chips.
Rose: I never eat chips. I don't like them. They fall in my bra.

Dorothy: Oh, boy. That must have been some dream you were having last night.
Rose: What are you talking about?
Dorothy: I never heard such a racket.
Blanche: I thought you were making love.
Rose: No, no, I wasn't. No. It was a nightmare. Aan awful nightmare, just terrible.
Blanche: Isn't it interesting how the sounds are the same for awful nightmares and great sex?

Lucille: How long had you been seeing him?
Rose: About a month but that's not why I'm here. I have bad news.
Lucille: Well, you couldn't be pregnant.

Rose: Last night, Al had a heart attack and died. Oh, Mrs. Beatty, I'm so very, very sorry.
Lucille: Well, you must have the wrong Al. You've been sleeping with someone else's Al. My Al is as healthy as a horse. It can't be him! Al Beatty, from Boca Raton?
Rose: Yes.
Lucille: You're telling me Al is dead?
Rose: Yes.
Lucille: A heart attack is crazy. He was a runner. He couldn't have a heart attack. I'm talking, so it can't be true.
You know what I mean? If I keep talking, it isn't true. All I have to do is talk forever. Oh, God, Al! [Rose holds Lucille's hand] I'm all right. I'm OK. Al the big jerk. I loved him. He was a decent man, you know?
Rose: I know. He was.
Lucille: Caring.
Rose: Very.
Lucille: Special.
Rose: And it's all my fault!
Lucille: He had a heart attack. It's not your fault.
Rose: He had a heart attack with me. Mrs. Beatty, my late husband had a heart attack with me as well. They drop like flies around me!
Lucille: Mrs. Nylund, you're not responsible for the death of my husband.
Rose: I'll never date again.
Lucille: You will.
Rose: I won't. I can't.
Lucille: In time, you'll forget this.
Rose: Never.
Lucille: I promise you.
Rose: It's OK. I'll get used to being alone.
Lucille: Mrs. Nylund.
Rose: Yes?
Lucille: You've been sleeping with my husband and he's just died. See if you can pull yourself together, because in a minute, I'm going to need some comforting myself.

Dorothy: Come on, Blanche. It's not her fault. She has a perfectly normal sex life.
Blanche: Now, I knew somebody who had seven husbands and six of them died of stomach ailments. Well, they arrested her. She'd been putting ground glass in their salads.
Rose: Why?
Dorothy: Because she ran out of croutons! Because she wanted to kill them, Rose.

Dorothy: Come on, Rose, it'll be fun. You like square dancing.
Rose: No, thanks.
Blanche: You're only gonna be dancing with men. You can't kill them by doing that.
Rose: Nope. No more men. That's it for me.
Blanche: No more men? My God, I would die. I would just die.
Dorothy: It's not like no more food, Blanche.
Blanche: It's worse!