Blanche: Look, everybody. The storm's letting up. I'm gonna run right over to Walter's.
Rose: Aren't you gonna change?
Blanche: No.
Rose: You know, it's still pretty windy out there. I'm gonna go outside and see if I can get airborne.

Stan: [laughing]
Dorothy: Stanley, if you're doing what I think you're doing, you're in big trouble.
Stan: No, I was just remembering the first time you ever kicked me put of bed and I had to sleep on the floor.
Dorothy: Emil Zuntz's Hidden Honeymoon Hideaway in the Poconos.
Stan: Where every cottage is April in Paris.
Dorothy: And every bathroom Calcutta in July.

Dorothy: Ma, you are making lasagna al forno. What is the occasion?
Sophia: There's no occasion. I just know it's your favorite. [doorbell] I'll get it.
Dorothy: This takes 12 hours to make. What do you want?
Sophia: Nothing. And it takes 16.
Dorothy: Ma, the only time you make lasagna al forno is for funerals and favors. You're not wearing black, so what do you want?
Sophia: Nothing. Dorothy, you're a sick, suspicious, paranoid person. [opens door] Stan, my favorite ex-son-in-law.

Blanche: Can we take it from the top of scene three? I'm standing on the balcony of the von Trapp home listening to artillery shells bursting in the distance, and you come running on from upstage, okay?
Rose: Okay. You ready?
Blanche: Yes.
Rose: The Nazis are coming! The Nazis are coming!
Sophia: [running in] Everybody, grab a gun and go in the basement! Come on! Come on! Move. Move.

Sophia: Dorothy, it's only for one afternoon. It'll break your uncle's heart if he finds out you're divorced.
Dorothy: Ma, forget it. We're divorced because Stanley cheated on me. He is a loathsome, repulsive creature. And even the thought of pretending to be married makes me physically ill.
Stan: Fine, but I'm still staying for dinner.
Sophia: Dorothy, if you don't do this, I'll never speak to you again.
Dorothy: I don't care.
Sophia: I'll cut you out of the will.
Dorothy: I don't care.
Sophia: I'll invite Stan to eat over every night for the rest of your life.
Dorothy: How bad can it be? It's just for the day.

Angelo: Dorothy, would you do me a favor?
Dorothy: Oh, of course, Uncle Angelo. Anything.
Angelo: I want you to sleep with this man.
Dorothy: Forget it.
Angelo: Please, I'm a-begging you as a man of the cloth.
Dorothy: Now I know how Jessica Hahn must have felt.

Angelo: I cannot go on with this deception any longer. I can't marry you. I'm not a priest. I never was.
Dorothy: Uncle Angelo, what are you talking about?
Sophia: I gotta sit down.
Angelo: Let me tell you a story. Picture it: Sicily, 1914. I promised our dear sainted mother on her deathbed I'm-a gonna join the priesthood. On my way to the seminary in Palermo, I stop off in a local trattoria for a glass of Chianti. The waitress bring drink to the table is a vision. Luscious lips, full bosom and a behind so round, so firm, you got to fall down on your knees and cry put at its magnificent regal beauty. I'm a butt man. Anyway, my devotion to God doesn't waver. But suddenly, the idea of living with a bunch of guys in itchy robes doesn't seem quite as appealing as that tuckus. So I tear up my priest application, ask Philomena to marry me, and we lived the next 72 years in wedded bliss.

Stan: Hello, Mama Bear. Papa Bear's back in the cave.
Dorothy: I could vomit just looking at you.

Dorothy: Ma, listen, I want some answers. Now, why did you prepare my favorite meal and then invite my least favorite person to come eat it with us?
Sophia: All right. All right. I need a favor. Remember my brother Angelo? He was at your wedding.
Dorothy: He's a priest who lives in Sicily.
Sophia: He's going to Brooklyn next week to visit the family and insisted on stopping off in Miami one day to wish you two a happy 40th wedding anniversary.
Stan: Yeah, but we're not married anymore.
Sophia: Which brings me to the lasagna al forno. I want you to pretend you're still married and that we're all living here.
Stan: No, I'm sorry, Sophia. I will not take part in this. The institution of marriage is sacred.
Sophia: I'll give you 50 bucks.
Stan: Okay, I'll do it.

Dorothy: [entering] Whooo, it is really coming down.
Rose: What's coming down?
Dorothy: The Liberace marquee at Caesar's Palace. Rain! Rain, Rose!