Rose: Please, Blanche, please. I'm too scared to go back to my room. This kind of thing has always frightened me, ever since I was a little girl, when I first heard my parents whispering about the St. Olaf slasher.
Blanche: Slasher?
Rose: Yes. Oh, he terrorized St. Olaf for months. In the dark of night, he'd sneak into an unsuspecting farmer's field and mercilessly slash his scarecrow to shreds.
Blanche: He was a scarecrow slasher?
Rose: Primarily. Although he was suspected in the disfigurement of several whisk brooms. Oh, I was so scared at night, I'd sleep in the closet so he couldn't find me.

Rose: What are you doing?
Blanche: I am contouring my eyebrows. I use Miss Christie Brinkley as a guide 'cause we have the exactly same bone structure. I just hope she doesn't go to pot after that baby comes. I don't want that big-eyed husband of hers coming after me.
Rose: I never do very much with my eyebrows.
Blanche: That's why, from the nose up, you look like Wilfred Brimley.

Blanche: Oh, girls, girls, can I please share your electric blanket?
Dorothy & Sophia: No.
Blanche: Oh, come on. I can't sleep. My bed's never been so cold. Especially on a Saturday night.