Dorothy Quote #293

Quote from Dorothy in Love, Rose

Blanche: He could end it with a poem.
Dorothy: He did that last time.
Blanche: No, it's been two or three letters since he wrote a poem.
Dorothy: He doesn't write poems, Blanche. We write poems. Actually, Lord Byron writes poems. We just copy them onto loose-leaf paper.
Blanche: In cleverly disguised handwriting, I might add.
Dorothy: I don't know why I let you talk me into this? I mean, it is out of control, we have to tell Rose the truth.
Blanche: Oh, we can't. It would crush her.
Dorothy: Then it's time to ship Isaac Newton to Saskatchewan.
Blanche: Dorothy, you can't send a citrus farmer to Saskatchewan. How's he going to make a living?
Dorothy: Excuse me. Next time we invent a person, let's make sure that he has a trade that travels.


 ‘Love, Rose’ Quotes

Quote from Blanche

Rose: Girls, was this the only mail today?
Blanche: Yes, can you believe it? People magazine is late again. I'm going to have to give that mailman another talking-to.
Dorothy: This time you might want to try something a little more forceful than asking him in for a Café Vienna and a warm bath.
Blanche: Dorothy, the man had just recovered from a hernia operation, and he was having trouble carrying his sack.

Quote from Blanche

Dorothy: Oh, Rose, honey, don't let this personals thing depress you.
Rose: Dorothy, I can't help it. I haven't been this depressed since I was rejected by Uncle Sam.
Blanche: Well, honey, if he was your uncle, it wasn't meant to be. It's not like he was your cousin, where the relationship might have had a future.
Dorothy: Tell me, Blanche. Did any of your relatives appear in Deliverance?

Quote from Sophia

Rose: Sophia gets chased, and I don't even get a letter.
Sophia: You want Willy, you can have him.
Rose: What's wrong with him?
Sophia: There's nothing wrong with him. OK, so he's 90. He has the profile of a tom-turkey and his butt hits his heels when he walks. He thinks he can pull it off because he wears an ascot and a jaunty cap.
Dorothy: He sounds kinda cute, Ma. I mean, why are you avoiding him?
Sophia: There's no magic, Dorothy. No sparks. You know what I mean?
Dorothy: He's 90; you're 80. Sparks are dangerous.