Rose: I don't drink before bedtime. I stop all liquids at noon and I still wake up.
Sophia: I never have that problem. Never. I sleep like a log. I never get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. I go in the morning. Every morning like clockwork, at 7 am I pee. Unfortunately, I don't wake up till 8.

Blanche: You don't have to worry about me. I never get sick. I take very good care of myself. I treat my body like a temple.
Sophia: Yeah, open to everyone, day or night.

Rose: What are you doing?
Sophia: It's Tuesday night. I'm cleaning out my purse.
Rose: Did all that stuff come out of your purse?
Sophia: No, I was also cleaning out my ears. That's where the Feenamint and the rain bonnet came from.
Rose: Sophia, why are you in such a bad mood?
Sophia: Forgive me, Rose, but I haven't had sex in 15 years and it's starting to get on my nerves.

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: Don't panic, I'm fine. I haven't had that much. Besides, you think I'd ruin Roberta's milestone birthday?
Rose: Milestone? She's 88.
Sophia: Right. After 80, every year without a headstone is a milestone.

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.

Sophia: Let me tell you a story. Sicily, 1912. Picture this: Two young girls, best friends, who shared three things: a pizza recipe, some dough, and a dream. Everything is going great until one day, a fast-talking pepperoni salesman gallops into town. Of course, both girls are impressed. He dates one one night, the other, the next night. Pretty soon, he drives a wedge between them. Before you know it, the pizza suffers, the business suffers, the friendship suffers. The girls part company and head for America, never to see one another again. Rose, one of those girls was me. The other one you probably know as Mama Celeste.
Rose: Sophia, what's the point?
Sophia: The point is, I lost a fortune!

Dorothy: Ma, where are you going with all that food?
Sophia: I'm stashing it away from Rose's mother. She's on a special diet. I hate those people. You turn your back for a second, boom boom, your food is gone. Anything on your plate is suddenly on their diet.
Dorothy: Oh, come on, Ma. You haven't even met Rose's mother.
Sophia: I know a lot of old people. They're all the same. They're cranky, they're demanding, they repeat themselves. They're cranky, they're demanding...

Sophia: So that's why you're acting like it's the first day of school. Mr. Gordon is coming over. [kissing sounds]
Dorothy: Mother, just stop that. Mr. Gordon is probably over 70 by now. He's practically ancient.
Sophia: Seventy is ancient? If I met a man that age who looked halfway decent, I'd be on my back before you could say, "I've fallen and I can't get up."

Dorothy: I'm a little nervous about Jean. She's a very special person and I don't know if she's going to get along with Blanche and Rose.
Sophia: You mean because she's a lesbian?
Dorothy: Oh, Ma, she's not a lesbian. I mean, what an absurd thing- How did you know?
Sophia: I've known since you two were in college together.
Dorothy: She didn't even know in college. How did you know?
Sophia: A mother knows.
Dorothy: Do you think I should tell Rose and Blanche?
Sophia: Jean is a nice person. She happens to likes girls instead of guys. Some people like cats instead of dogs. Frankly, I'd rather live with a lesbian than a cat. Unless a lesbian sheds. That I don't know.