Sophia: This is no coincidence. Everything I have, you try to steal. May the bags under your eyes grow so large your head falls in 'em.
Angela: May your shampoo get mixed up with your Preparation H and shrink your head to the size of mushroom.

Sophia: May the hair on your lip grow in the opposite direction and get tangled in the hair coming down from your nose.
Angela: May you take a diuretic and not be able to get your pantyhose off.

Blanche: What is happening between Sophia and Angela is not unlike an incident which occurred between my sister Virginia and me when we were in high school. Now, can you believe that one's very own sister could seduce her sibling's boyfriend on the eve of that sibling's senior prom?
Dorothy: Virginia did that to you?
Blanche: No, I did that to Virginia. She deserved it. She borrowed my saddle shoes without asking. Well, what are you looking at? She scuffed those shoes. I hardly left a mark on that boy.

Rose: Oh, I always get tired after a long trip. I remember one time Daddy took the whole family cross state on our tractor to visit Great-grandfather Zingbarten. Great-grandpa Ziggy was a famous inventor. He developed the first - and to my knowledge, the only- low-voltage meter to detect what kind of center pieces of candy had. Anyway, we were just a few miles out...
Angela: You know, I am a little tired. I think I will lie down.
Blanche: I'm tired myself.
Dorothy: Me, too.
Sophia: I'm exhausted.
Rose: Fine, but I'm warning you all right now, I'm telling the rest of that story as soon as you get up.
[Dorothy, Blanche, Sophia and Angela walk back into the room]

Blanche: You really like Tony a lot, don't you, Sophia?
Sophia: Why shouldn't I? He's the best catch in town. He's got his own hair, his own teeth and a totally unrestricted driver's license. Hey, at my age, that's like dating Tom Cruise.

Dorothy: Rose, is this another one of those Scandinavian Viking concoctions?
Rose: Yes. It's called gnurchen-frurgen cake. It's an ancient recipe, but I Americanised it.
Dorothy: Yeah, so one might say you brought geflirchen-nirchen into the '80s?
Rose: Yes, but I'm not one to blow my own verturgen-furgen.
Sophia: I can't even reach mine.

Rose: Please, just hear me out. Now, you've heard me speak about Sylvia Butell down at the grief center. This is her chicken.
Blanche: Sylvia Butell? Isn't she the woman who thought Milton Berle was sending her secret messages through her dentures?
Rose: Yes, but with extensive counselling and some new bridgework, she's totally back to normal.
Dorothy: Rose, the woman keeps a chicken in her house. How normal can she be?
Rose: I kept a chicken in my home.
Dorothy: You see my point?

Sophia: Dorothy, sometimes I get confused. I want to make sure I have this absolutely right. Rose works in a place where they help people with mental problems?
Dorothy: That's right, Ma.
Sophia: Anybody know how to get in touch with Morley Safer?

Sophia: What's wrong?
Angela: Nothing.
Sophia: You travelled 5,000 miles from Sicily for nothing? I know what it is. The Valducci-Petrillo vendetta is still on. Dorothy, go out buy a dozen mattresses, thirty pounds of pasta, and some aluminium foil for the windows.
Angela: There is no vendetta. There's not even a Valducci family anymore. They all ate some sausages that they shouldn't have at their last family picnic and they all died.
Blanche: Food poisoning?
Angela: No, they stole the sausage from the Calabresi family.

Blanche: Angela, that was the best meal I've ever had in my entire life.
Angela: Well, how good could it have been? You left half of it.
Blanche: I ate every bite.
Angela: There's some sauce left. If you really like it, you'd take a hunk of that bread and use it to sop it all up. You can afford it.
Blanche: Oh, no I can't. I've put on a few pounds. You just haven't noticed.
Angela: What am I blind? I can see that. I meant the bread. You can afford the bread. It's only 89 cents a loaf.