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: I remember the best sex of my whole life.
Dorothy: Was it difficult to get out of the relationship afterwards?
Rose: No, not really. Poor Charlie died in the middle of it.
Blanche: Was that really the best sex you ever had with him?
Rose: Yeah. Oh, there was something wild about him that night. Although I did think it was strange when he started yelling, "Rose, I'm going! I'm going!"
Dorothy: Talk about your mixed emotions.

Sophia: It means that ever since he made a fortune on that baked potato opener, he's been comin' on to you like gangbusters, and I don't like it. Not that I've ever actually seen gangbusters But I did see Ghostbusters. I didn't like that, either. I mean, they couldn't give the black guy one funny line? And how about that sequel? Dorothy, what the hell were we just talkin' about?

Rose: What was the best sex you ever had, Blanche?
Dorothy: Oh, way to go, Rose. Look, Blanche, it's late, there's only one cheesecake left, so let's make menopause the cutoff point.
Blanche: Best sex. Oh, it's just so hard to rate these things. There's degree of difficulty, style points, choice of music... Did they land on their feet during the dismount? Different people have different strengths. It's just impossible to tell, but anything over a nine is excellent.
Rose: Over a nine?!
Blanche: Points, Rose. Points.