Dorothy: Oh, you couldn't sleep either, huh?
Blanche: No, I guess it's the knife in my back.
Dorothy: Come again?
Blanche: I wasn't going to say anything about this, Dorothy, but I won't be able to sleep until I do. I feel that you have backed me into a corner. And when I am backed into a corner, I come out fighting like a wild cat. Unless I've had too much to drink, in which case I slide down the wall and make mad, passionate love on the carpet.

Blanche: Well, as long as you're here, would you like a tour?
Sophia: No thanks. If I want to look at pictures, I go to FotoMatt. Besides, Rose brought me. She's waiting outside with the dog. Hey, you ever stick your head out of a car window doing 50? What a rush!

Rose: I know I promised to take him back to the pound yesterday, but he wasn't feeling well. Frankly, Dorothy, I'm a little worried.
Sophia: Don't be, it was a hangover.
Rose: What?
Sophia: A hangover from the sherry.
Dorothy: Ma, you gave the dog sherry? That's terrible.
Sophia: I was having a few sips while I was rinsing out my underwear. It's a little thing I do Mondays and Thursdays only. Anyway, the dog walks in, looks up at me, and I swear it's your Uncle Aldo's face begging me for a drink. So I give the mutt a swallow, but he doesn't know when to stop, also like your Uncle Aldo. So we sing a little Puccini, stretch out on the couch and take a nap together. All in all, a pleasant afternoon.