Blanche: Now, I'm serious. You have got to get rid of that woman. Look, she just bosses us all around, won't let us have any fun, make any noise. She's makin' our lives miserable.
Dorothy: I don't like her any more than you do, but what can I do? Ma's ankles haven't healed yet. And besides, Nurse DeFarge means well.
Blanche: Dorothy, at 2:00 a.m. this morning, I was entertaining a gentleman caller when she opened the door at the most inopportune time. I could have lost my balance and chipped a tooth.

Blanche: I think it's a great idea.
Rose: Oh, sure it is, if you like the notion of children competing in a bloodthirsty, winner-take-all contest, where what's on the outside is considered more important than what's on the inside.
Dorothy: Lost the Little Miss St. Olaf pageant, did you?
Rose: Twenty-three years in a row. Once they picked Eileen Ditmeyer's imaginary playmate over me. Well, sure, she was more talented, but still, I smelled a rat.
Dorothy: You mean the contest was fixed?
Rose: No, that was my talent. Smelling rats.

Rose: You think that's annoying? She came into my room last night when I was reenacting the gangplank scene from Peter Pan.
Dorothy: What the hell goes on at night in this house?