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.

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.

Rose: [as dog] Bye, Auntie Blanche. Bye, Auntie Sophia.
Sophia: I don't know how she gets away with it. If she was my age she'd be locked up at Shady Pines making boats out of popsicle sticks.