Rose: Girls, was this the only mail today?
Blanche: Yes, can you believe it? People magazine is late again. I'm going to have to give that mailman another talking-to.
Dorothy: This time you might want to try something a little more forceful than asking him in for a Café Vienna and a warm bath.
Blanche: Dorothy, the man had just recovered from a hernia operation, and he was having trouble carrying his sack.

Dorothy: Oh, Rose, honey, don't let this personals thing depress you.
Rose: Dorothy, I can't help it. I haven't been this depressed since I was rejected by Uncle Sam.
Blanche: Well, honey, if he was your uncle, it wasn't meant to be. It's not like he was your cousin, where the relationship might have had a future.
Dorothy: Tell me, Blanche. Did any of your relatives appear in Deliverance?

Rose: Sophia gets chased, and I don't even get a letter.
Sophia: You want Willy, you can have him.
Rose: What's wrong with him?
Sophia: There's nothing wrong with him. OK, so he's 90. He has the profile of a tom-turkey and his butt hits his heels when he walks. He thinks he can pull it off because he wears an ascot and a jaunty cap.
Dorothy: He sounds kinda cute, Ma. I mean, why are you avoiding him?
Sophia: There's no magic, Dorothy. No sparks. You know what I mean?
Dorothy: He's 90; you're 80. Sparks are dangerous.

Blanche: I know what you mean, Sophia. I would never date a man unless I felt those sparks.
Dorothy: Well, fortunately, you carry flints in your bra.

Dorothy: What do you have to lose? If you don't find anyone interesting, you don't have to reply. And the Community Center runs their service in the newsletter for free.
Blanche: And they'll even run your picture, and let you use a 100-word biography.
Dorothy: How do you know that?
Blanche: Rumor.

Rose: I can't believe I'm listening to a discussion about Sophia's love life.
Sophia: Let me hook you up with Willy. He needs to forget me.
Rose: No, thank you.
Sophia: Okay, but you don't know what you're missing. There aren't many guys around who remember where they were when the Archduke Ferdinand was shot.

Blanche: I have an idea. I'm going to set her up with one of my discards, Henry Barnes. He's reasonably good-Iooking; he drives a new Buick Riviera; and I heard he just opened a third dry-cleaning store in Boca Raton.
Dorothy: Blanche, where are you going?
Blanche: I'm going to go call Henry. I have nothing to do tonight.
Dorothy: What about Rose?
Blanche: Oh, tell her to call Bud Needham.
Dorothy: Who is Bud Needham?
Blanche: He just took Henry's place in my discard pile.

Dorothy: So, just tell Jackie you'd prefer Marla to do your hair.
Blanche: I can't. Jackie and I go way back together, before bouffant.
Dorothy: God, you're practically family.
Blanche: I know. So, what if I switch to Marla and you take my appointment with Jackie.
Dorothy: But you just told me that Jackie makes you look like a chicken.
Blanche: I know. But with your nose, you could pull it off.

Blanche: Dorothy, I have a confession to make. I wrote that letter to Rose.
Dorothy: You what?
Blanche: I wrote that letter myself. I made up a name and I answered Rose's ad.
Dorothy: Blanche, how could you? She thinks someone took an interest in her.
Blanche: Well, someone did. Me.
Dorothy: But what if she expects another letter from this guy? What if she decides to go out with him?
Blanche: Then we just write one last farewell letter, before he moves to Saskatchewan, and that's the end of Isaac Newton.
Dorothy: Isaac Newton?
Blanche: It was the first name that came to mind.
Dorothy: Isaac Newton was the first name that came to mind?
Blanche: Actually, Ted Koppel was the first name that came to mind. But he looks like Howdy Doody's illegitimate son.

Blanche: He could end it with a poem.
Dorothy: He did that last time.
Blanche: No, it's been two or three letters since he wrote a poem.
Dorothy: He doesn't write poems, Blanche. We write poems. Actually, Lord Byron writes poems. We just copy them onto loose-leaf paper.
Blanche: In cleverly disguised handwriting, I might add.
Dorothy: I don't know why I let you talk me into this? I mean, it is out of control, we have to tell Rose the truth.
Blanche: Oh, we can't. It would crush her.
Dorothy: Then it's time to ship Isaac Newton to Saskatchewan.
Blanche: Dorothy, you can't send a citrus farmer to Saskatchewan. How's he going to make a living?
Dorothy: Excuse me. Next time we invent a person, let's make sure that he has a trade that travels.