Dorothy: Rose, I am not going. It is degrading.
Blanche: Dorothy, come on now. Don't be a stick-in-the-mud. It's for the Children's Hospital. I mean, if you can't degrade yourself for a bunch of sick kids, who can you degrade yourself for?

Blanche: Believe me, Dorothy, I know what you're going through. I once had a relationship with a man I couldn't get rid of. Every time I turned around, there he was, pathetically underfoot. Long after I outgrew my need for him, he was there with flowers and candy, perfume. I couldn't move without him following me like a puppy dog.
Rose: How'd you finally get rid of him?
Blanche: Monday came, and we both had to go back to work.

Blanche: Now, you can't tell us that a part of you isn't at least a little excited. Remember last year's auction? That rush of euphoria when the auctioneer calls out "Sold!" and you fall into the arms of your valiant Galahad?
Dorothy: My Galahad was a balloon salesman named Sid.
Blanche: Well, hey, who knew that sawed-off little gnome would outbid a Navy admiral? And a fire chief. And that jeweler who was a dead ringer for Mr. Richard Widmark.
Dorothy: Blanche, that was a year ago. How do you remember all this?
Blanche: I tagged 'em for migratory purposes.

Rose: Dorothy, it really does sound like a great opportunity. On Stan's behalf, Charlie once made a lot of money in business with a partner who was also a lousy, no-good, underhanded, backstabbing worm.
Dorothy: Let me guess, Rose. Ivan Boesky-Vanderfloovenhooven-meistergarbengerbenfleckman.
Rose: That's the louse.

Dorothy: Wait, wait, wait. I said I'm not going to go, and I am not going to go. It's just that, well, you have different intentions than I do.
Stan: It's not my intentions, it's God's intentions. D-Do you think this is all a coincidence? I mean, look. Your uncle visits, my uncle dies. Your uncle needs a place to live, my uncle gives us a building. Don't you see? God wants us to be together, babe. It's almost Biblical.
Dorothy: And thus he smote your Uncle Morris, huh?
Stan: There's a whole school of thought that says he's a wrathful God.
Dorothy: Yeah, well that would explain your hair.

Sophia: I'm not happy with my zabagliones.
Blanche: Maybe you just need a push-up bra.

Dorothy: Blanche, zabaglione is a traditional Italian dessert. It's my Uncle Angelo's favorite.
Sophia: Yeah, my brother. He's quite the scungiscoror-or-or.
Dorothy: Even I don't know that one.
Sophia: That wasn't a word. My dentures slipped.

Rose: Oh, no thanks. I'm doing what we all should be doing. Dieting for the bachelorette auction next Saturday.
Dorothy: Not all of us. I told you, Rose, count me out. Even if it is for charity, I am not gonna stand up there and allow myself to be sold to the highest bidder like some Holstein cow at a livestock auction.
Rose: Dorothy, livestock don't get chauffeur-driven limousine rides to fancy four-star restaurants and the symphony afterwards. Except during St. Olaf Bicentennial Day.

Rose: Dorothy, come on. The auction needs you. The children need you. Please, won't you reconsider?
Dorothy: Oh, all right! It's only one night. I'll go, but I'll tell you, I really hate this.
Rose: Oh, come on, Dorothy, that balloon man couldn't have been that terrible.
Dorothy: I got the feeling I was the man's first date that wasn't inflatable.

Dorothy: Can you believe this guy? Like I would think for a minute about being in business with him.
Blanche: Nonsense, Dorothy. You can't pass up a chance to own real estate. It's been a lifesaver for me. You get a bunch of saps to pay your mortgage for you every month while your equity just rises higher and higher, while those poor suckers- What I meant was it's a great opportunity to make new friends.