Sophia: Everybody's gonna be talking about me when they see what I cooked up for the talent show. I call my new act "Sophia and Sophia." Get a load of this. Uh, hi, Sophia. [as the sock puppet] Oh, hello, Sophia. How are you feeling today? I've got a little arthritis in my neck. I was wondering why my wrist was hurting. What do you think?
Dorothy: Oh, come on, Ma, you could see your lips moving.
Sophia: So?
Blanche: Well, a ventriloquist's lips aren't supposed to move, Sophia.
Sophia: Is that common knowledge?
Dorothy: I'm afraid so, Ma. I mean, otherwise it would just be you talking with a sock on your hand.
Sophia: [to the sock] Tough break, Sophia. One minute you're about to entertain the masses, the next you're back on a foot covering a corn pad. Now you know how Valerie Harper feels.

Rose: I've always believed you can fix a problem, no matter how big it is, if you just put your mind to it.
Blanche: How are you gonna fix nuclear war thing, by writing a letter to President Reagan?
Rose: Well, now that would be pretty stupid, wouldn't it, Blanche? I mean, Reagan's only responsible for half the problem. I'll have to write to Gorbachev, too.
Dorothy: Rose, honey, you can't be serious.
Rose: Dorothy, I'm taking my troop on a camp out in two weeks. I don't want this nuclear nonsense spoiling our fun. A well written, thoughtful, intelligent letter to Reagan and Gorbachev might just do the trick. Anybody know how many Z's there are in "czar"? I'll look it up.

Rose: To this day the ghost of the headless Indian roams the forest crying out, "Where is my head? Where is my head?"
Linda: If the Indian doesn't have a head, how can he cry out?
Blanche: [to Dorothy] Maybe he talks out of his behind like Cadet Master Rose.

Rose: The rain doesn't have to spoil our fun. There's nothing we can do outside that we can't do right here.
Nancy: You promised us we could pee in the woods.
Blanche: Get away from that couch.

Rose: All right, in an orderly fashion head for the station wagon. That's not the way to get your good behavior badges. Come on, now, you all know you use both fingers for the sunshine salute!

Blanche: I'm so glad those little heathens finally left.
Dorothy: Oh, me, too. I am exhausted.
Blanche: I just don't think I'd have the energy to raise more children. Although I am still in my childbearing years.
Dorothy: Sure, Blanche, you and Imogene Coca.

Alexi: Does Rose Nylund live here?
Dorothy: Oh, I'm sorry, you just missed her. She just left with her cadet troop.
Blanche: Can we help you?
Alexi: I am Alexi Bovanov from the Russian embassy. Premier Gorbachev read Rose's letter and would like to meet with her.
[Blanche spits out her drink right in the Russian's face]
Blanche: I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.
Alexi: It's Coca Cola, no? No need to apologize. In Moscow I stand in line six hours for half as much.

Blanche: Rose, the most unbelievable thing has happened. Remember that letter you wrote to Gorbachev? He's answered it. He wants to see you!
Rose: What did Reagan say?
Blanche: Well, nothing. He didn't send a letter.
Rose: Well, that is unbelievable. I wrote him two days earlier. I did the dumbest thing. I walked out of this house and completely forgot it's a full moon. Under those conditions a Sunshine Cadet Master must wear full headdress. Here I come, girls! [yelping, exits]
Dorothy: Kemosabe, I think the world is in heap big trouble.

Blanche: Are you all right, honey?
Rose: Oh, I'm fine. I just had a dream. We were all in Moscow. It was snowing and we were all wearing fake furs. I guess I'm just nervous about that press conference tomorrow. I've never had a press conference before. The idea of all those reporters coming to the house to ask me questions scares me to death.
Blanche: Oh, honey, relax. Reporters are just people. They put on their pants one leg at a time. Except for that sports writer Steve Maxwell. He likes to jump into both legs all at once, with a little hop step.

Alexi: We can start the press conference now. Where is Rose?
Dorothy: Oh, she left to pick up her cadet troop.
Alexi: That's adorable. She wants to share this moment with friends her own age. You must very proud of your daughter.
Dorothy: My daughter?
Blanche: Friends her own age? Why, how old do you think Rose is?
Alexi: Well, based upon her letter, we figure nine or ten. No?
Dorothy: To be perfectly honest, she's... Uh, closer to ten. Blanche, could I see you in the kitchen for a moment? Was there anything we could get you? Coffee, tea, pair of Levi's?