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.

Rose: This just makes me so mad. I mean, people like this really need help. Then there are places like Sunny Pastures.
Blanche: Well, there weren't any Sunny Pastures in the South. At least, not when I was growing up. I remember this one old man. His name was Ben. All he did all day long was sit out there on his family's front porch in that old hickory rocking chair and whittle. Just whittle. I used to pass by there on my way home from school, and I'd say, "Hi, Ben." And he'd yell back, "Hi, Blanche. Stay away from my grandsons." Anyway, I realized that Ben could spend all his days happy, whittling away, because his family was there for him. I will never forget that look on his face. He was happier than a Kentucky yearling frolicking in blue grass as high as a hoot owl's perch on the top of a spring-
Dorothy: In English, Jethro! In English!
Blanche: He was happy. Anyway, Ben got older, and I guess a little bit frail, and... This is the hard part of my story. One autumn day, I walked by that porch and old Ben was gone.
Dorothy: I bet he died in the bed he was born in.
Blanche: No, he was sent up the river on a morals charge.

Sophia: Well, then. That's that. Lillian's problems are solved. Isn't this terrific?
Dorothy: Terrific? Ma, this is wonderful. I mean, this is a real happy ending. So, how come I don't feel all that happy?
Blanche: I don't know. Is it because we know that Lillian's just plain lucky? That a lot of old people do slip through the cracks and are forgotten? And maybe it may not be too long until we're elderly ourselves?
Rose: I know, girls. Let's make a pact that we'll always take care of each other. That we'll never desert each other, no matter what.
Blanche: You can count on me, honey.
Dorothy: Do you think it's gonna be that easy getting rid of me, Rose? That was rhetorical, Rose. Ah, but what a comforting thought, knowing you'll never be alone. And listen, what the hell? If we do have to go to a nursing home, let's all go together.
Rose: But what happens when there's only one of us left?
Sophia: Don't worry. I can take care of myself.

Blanche: It's from your friend Gladys at Shady Pines. She says Lillian was sent to Sunny Pastures.
Dorothy: You see, Ma, your friend is fine.
Sophia: Fine? Are you kidding? Sunny Pastures is the worst nursing home in the city. It's every old person's nightmare. That, and a childproof cap on the Kaopectate bottle.