Dorothy: Frank, we love you, but you are out of here.
Sophia: Gimme a minute.
Dorothy: Sure.
Sophia: Listen, you. You're just starting out. You're in for the long haul. Keep your seat belt on, there are lots of twists and turns. [baby cries] Stop that, or they're gonna come in here and sing again!

Young Man: Honey, can we go now? I've been planning this for months - a weekend alone in the woods. It's going to be perfect.
Rose: It sounds romantic. Maybe you'll have another baby.
Young Man: I'd better make sure we packed everything.

Blanche: What a beautiful little thing.
Dorothy: Yes. What is it, Rose? A boy or a girl?
Rose: Of course!

Dorothy: I mean, is it Frances as in Francie, or Francis as in Frank?
Rose: I don't know. It's wearing yellow.
Dorothy: We could find out, Rose.
Rose: How?
Dorothy: Put on the Dolphins game and see if it watches. By looking, Rose!
Blanche: We could change its diaper, and see if it has a winky.
Dorothy: A "winky"?
Blanche: That's the scientific term for it, when it's little.

Rose: But the baby isn't wet.
Blanche: We'll change it anyway. Here you go.
Dorothy: Here I go?
Blanche: The best time to change a diaper is when there's nothing in it.
Rose: I'll do it. You can help me. OK. Ready? One, two, three... [a stream of urine shoots upwards]
All: Frank.

Martha: I'd like to drink a toast. To Sophia, whom I hope I can count on.
Sophia: For what? Get your lips off Harvey and tell me what you want!
Martha: Since you mentioned it, I want you to do something for me. I want you to come over to my place tomorrow night.
Sophia: Oh, what, is it your birthday?
Martha: Sophia, there aren't going to be any more birthdays.
Sophia: What are you telling me?
Martha: I have so many things wrong with me: arthritis, high blood pressure, angina, just to mention a few.
Sophia: Who doesn't? You can't get into a canasta game unless you have at least two debilitating diseases.

Maitre D': Your table is ready, mesdames.
Sophia: [arms up] I don't know, for me it was better the first time. What do you think?
Maitre D': Right this way, please.
Sophia: So why do you want me to be at your house tomorrow?
Martha: I want you to be there when I kill myself.

Dorothy: What is it, Blanche?
Blanche: I can't quite make it out. I think my eyes are tired.
Dorothy: Your eyes are old. Blanche, when are you gonna admit you need glasses?
Blanche: I do not need glasses. My mother didn't need glasses till the day she died. And then it seemed silly.

Dorothy: What is his temperature, Blanche?
Blanche: I do not know, Dorothy. Even with perfect eyesight, nobody can read one of these things.
Rose: [from across the kitchen] Oh, my God. It's 103.2!

Dorothy: Oh, come on, Blanche, he's a doctor. He's used to seeing people at their worst. And if you comb your hair, you can be right in that ball park.