Sophia: Wait, McCracken. Before you begin, I wanna tell you something. I'm no novice when it comes to negotiations.
Mr. McCracken: Oh, really?
Sophia: Let me tell you a story. Picture it: Sicily, 1922. An attractive peasant girl, who has saved her lira, embarks on a glorious vacation to a Crimean resort on the Black Sea. For weeks, she frolics at the seaside resort and enjoys the company of many young men, all of whom adore her.
Edna: All of them?
Sophia: Shut up, Edna. I work alone. All of them. When it's time to return to Sicily, three different suitors beg her to stay. But she can't decide who to choose, so she chooses none of them. But she agrees to meet with them at the same resort many years later. To her trio of suitors, that eventful gathering was referred to as "Rendezvous With Sophia." But to the rest of the world, it was better known as the Yalta Conference.

Rose: Boy, I remember when I was a little girl when we'd get depressed. Grandma could always cheer us up. She'd take out her dentures and she'd take a healthy swig from the aquarium, and then she'd put a flashlight under her chin and we could watch the goldfish swim from cheek to cheek. We could've watched it all day. But visiting hours were only from 10 to 4.

Blanche: Are you tellin' me Rebecca and Jeremy are plannin' to get married?
Sophia: Yeah. I overheard them talking.
Dorothy: Maybe you misunderstood.
Sophia: Please. Me misunderstand? My bladder may be weak, my eyesight may be failing, my bones may be brittle... I see your point. Maybe you better double-check.