Sophia: This Rose/Bob Hope thing reminds me of a similar situation back in my village. Florence Pontevecchio used to fantasize that Alberto Bolognese was her brother.
Blanche: Who was Alberto Bolognese?
Sophia: He was the boot maker in the village.
Dorothy: What's so special about that?
Sophia: Did I say it was special? I said it was similar. I'm having a cup of tea, talking. The two of you have a look on your face like you paid for Phantom of the Opera tickets. Excuse me for not being Somerset Maugham. Better I should say nothing from now on and sit here like a pincushion!

Blanche: I still can't believe that Rose caused all this trouble.
Dorothy: Unbelievable.
Blanche: This whole fantasy about Bob Hope is sick.
Dorothy: Sick.
Blanche: I mean, if she's gonna have fantasies, they ought to be the normal, healthy kind, like sweaty Argentinean cowboys whipping things while they ride naked on the back of Brahma bulls.
Dorothy: I have to remember to stop using your towels.

Dorothy: Oh, this is terrible. The Ladies Auxiliary puts me in charge of the variety show, and we can't come up with one decent act.
Rose: I was just thinking, it's too bad we're not back in St. Olaf.
Blanche: Why? They have a lot of talent back in St. Olaf?
Rose: No. It's lunchtime there. I could really go for a smoked kipper hero.