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: Well, I can't use this.
Dorothy: She's right. This violates the privacy of her relationship, and I think you should take it back.
Blanche: You're just trying to make that old stupid sweatshirt of yours look better. Besides I can't take it back.
I paid in advance.
Rose: Can't you get a refund?
Blanche: Well, no. I paid with nature's credit card.
Dorothy: You never leave home without it.

Blanche: Dorothy, if you're really so worried about this, well, I'll just let Rose open yours first so you won't be embarrassed.
Dorothy: You know, your ego is so fragile you have to turn everything into a popularity contest. Well, I have news for you. Today your worst nightmare happens. Today I make you look bad.
Blanche: You hate me 'cause I'm beautiful, don't you?
Dorothy: There's a man leaving in 10 minutes. Be under him.

Dorothy: Rose, what's the problem?
Rose: Oh, Blanche thinks I should go to the hospital tomorrow. Well, if Miles didn't tell me about the surgery, doesn't that mean he doesn't want me there?
Blanche: Excuse me, Rose, you're about to make a grave mistake. You come to me if you want advice on men. You go to Dorothy if there's grammar you want help with.
Dorothy: You ended that sentence with a preposition just to bait me.
Blanche: What would I do that for?