Sophia: Dorothy, let me tell you a story. Picture it. Sicily, 1922. A young military officer stationed far from home. He wanders the streets seeking a friendly face and a glass of Chianti. Finally, he happens into a dusty little cafe where he finds both. The man laughs for the first time in months. And finds inspiration in a beautiful peasant girl, wise beyond her years. When the cafe is closed, she takes him home with her. Three glorious days, they make love and drink wine. He returns to his command prepared to lead his people through whatever battles need to be fought. Dorothy, that young peasant girl was me. And that young man was Winston Churchill.
Dorothy: Ma, you made that whole thing up. Now what is your point?
Sophia: That I made it up. It was a little lie that gave me a lot of pleasure. If Rose is happy, and there was no harm done, let her have that.

Sophia: Reminds me of the place I met Charles de Gaulle. We were lovers, you know.
Raymond: Really?
Dorothy: Ma, that's a lie.
Sophia: Who asked you?
Sophia: Picture it: Sicily, 1921. A beautiful young peasant girl saves her lira and takes a trip to Paris, the city of lights, also the only place a guy can wear a cape without getting a lot of funny looks. She wanders into a restaurant and ends up sharing a table with a dashing young Frenchman. They drink, they talk, they burn a cork and draw mustaches on each other.
Raymond: What?
Sophia: Just wanted to see if you were listening. Anyway, the next thing she knows, it's hours later, the place is empty, and the Frenchman's got his schnoz down her blouse. This begins a beautiful love affair. Kids, I was that peasant girl, and the schnoz was Charles the Mole.
Raymond: Charles the Mole?
Sophia: Yeah, Charles the Mole. He was the wheel man for Louie the Ice Pick.
Dorothy: Ma, you said Charles de Gaulle.
Sophia: Yeah, right! I slept with Charles de Gaulle. I could've been the first lady of France, but I married your father instead. A man who cleans his toenails with a shrimp fork.

Blanche: Aw. Well, my sister Charmaine was insanely jealous of me from the time I was a gorgeous little infant. See, she was one year ahead of me in school and we used to compete for everything. But there was one thing that Charmaine did excel at, cheerleading. Not only could she twirl that baton like a propeller, but she knew every cheer in the county. And she could twist her body into the shape of a letter R. Well, finally Charmaine decided it was her turn in the spotlight, so she challenged me to compete against her for captain of the cheerleading squad. When the day came, we had to perform in front of the entire school, and Charmaine was fantastic. She twirled those batons so fast, she looked like a DC3 coming in for a landing. Then it was my turn. So I did some cartwheels and only fell once. I did a handstand and almost got my balance. And I only dropped my baton four times. And when I was finished, I was unanimously voted captain of the cheerleading squad.
Dorothy: Blanche, how was that possible?
Blanche: Underneath my regulation uniform, I was wearing little, black French lace panties. Bearing the words "bonjour". Or was it "bon appétit"? I don't remember. Anyway, it was something in French. I guess, nobody minded that I couldn't do a handstand, but they surely did appreciate me trying.
Dorothy: Then I don't understand. Blanche, just once, why couldn't you let your sister win?
Blanche: I told you. Jealousy is a terrible thing. That'll teach Charmaine to be Daddy's favorite.

Sophia: If you don't apologize, why don't you leave?
Angela: Why should I apologize?
Sophia: I'll tell you why. Because you're nothing but a backstabbing Judas in sensible shoes.
Angela: Oh, yeah? Well, you know what you are? You're a two-lira tramp with cheap bridgework.
Sophia: May you put your dentures in upside down and chew your head off.
Angela: May your legs grow old and gnarled and withered like an olive branch. You should be so lucky.
Sophia: May your moles grow hair thicker than Jerry Vale's.
Angela: May your marinara sauce never cling to your pasta.
Sophia: [gasps] That's it. Come back here and say that to my face.

Rose: Girls, there is only one way we're going to solve this problem. We have to find out what Sophia and Angela are mad about. And then force them to sit down and settle it. It's like that old Scandinavian saying. "You can let two angry mackerel fight it out in a purse, but don't ever plan on carrying that purse to a formal affair." Well, it loses a little in the...
Dorothy, Blanche & Rose: Translation.
Rose: But the point of it is, it's human nature to want to make up. I mean, people stay angry out of habit.