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.

John Porter: OK, let's fill this out.
Sophia: Uh, please.
John Porter: And you are?
Sophia: Sophia. Sophia Pe- Hawkins.
John Porter: OK, Mrs. Pehawkins, um... Maybe you can tell me a little bit about your mother's history?
Sophia: Picture it. Sicily, 1900. An olive-skinned woman sets sail for the new world.
John Porter: I was talking about her medical history.
Sophia: So was I. You think that was a pleasure cruise? There was smallpox, scurvy, typhoid. And that was business class.