Sophia: You're lucky you have a choice. My marriage was arranged. I didn't have any choice in the matter.
Dorothy: You mean, you didn't pick Pop?
Sophia: He didn't pick me, either. We learned to love each other, thank God, but it wasn't our idea. There were eight unmarried girls and eight unmarried boys in the village that spring.
Blanche: How'd they decide who went with who?
Sophia: Height. If I hadn't stood on that rock, I'd have ended up with Luigi the pig-boy.

Rose: If I ever got another chance at a second Mr. Right, I'd want somebody entirely different from Charlie.
Dorothy: But I thought you were crazy about him.
Rose: I was. I am. I mean, we had a wonderful life together. But I'd like somebody really wild. Somebody impulsive, who'd sweep me off my feet. He'd pick me up in his convertible Porsche and whisk me to the airport. We'd fly to his villa in the south of France, where we'd blindfold the orchestra and dance until dawn. And then we'd watch the sun come up over two steaming cups of cocoa.
Sophia: Cocoa?
Rose: With little marshmallows.
Dorothy: Marshmallows? Rose, you trollop.

Dorothy: Rose, what are you doing up?
Rose: I can't sleep. I keep having nightmares about the banquet.
Dorothy: Oh? What kind of nightmares?
Rose: I'm at the banquet. It looks beautiful. I look beautiful. Everybody looks beautiful. And suddenly Charlton Heston walks in, dressed like Moses. And he tries to part the dessert table. And when that doesn't work, he rounds up the guests and leads them to the lingerie department of the nearest JCPenney's, where everybody starts making fun of the fat-lady underwear. What do you suppose it means?
Dorothy: That you've spent too many years sleeping on curlers.