Blanche: I don't believe it.
Dorothy: This is terrible.
Rose: Well, I'll admit, it's a little drab, but with some plants and nice...
Dorothy: It's a garage, you twit! Ma, how did this happen?
Sophia: [Italian]
Vincenzo: [Italian]
Sophia: [Italian] It was a slight misunderstanding. You see, in Sicily, every region has its own dialect. Actually, every town has its own dialect. Actually, every household has its own dialect. This also explains why the Italian army is as effective as a Jamaican bobsled team.

Sophia: Okay. That's it. When she gets off the phone, we're going for lunch. I'm tired of listening to these lousy Mother's Day stories.
Rose: Sophia, don't you have a Mother's Day story?
Sophia: I said I was tired of listening to lousy Mother's Day stories. I wouldn't mind telling a good one. Picture it: Brooklyn, 1957, the second Sunday in May. Dorothy had gone to pick up my mother and I was getting the house ready which mostly meant trying to get my Salvadore into a shirt with sleeves.

Dorothy: Blanche, will you calm down? I have never seen you so worked up over one date.
Blanche: Dorothy, I let this man slip through my fingers once before. I don't intend to let it happen again.
Sophia: [opening the door] He couldn't slip through your fingers now if you used a shoehorn.

Ham: Blanche!
Blanche: Well, Ham Lushbough, you sex-hungry devil! Now, I told you, no more. Go home and take a cold shower.
Ham: No. Not until you know the reason why I keep telling you I can't sleep with you.
Dorothy: Look, Ma, listen, maybe watching some TV in another room might be a good idea.
Sophia: Fine, Dorothy, but keep the volume down.
Dorothy: Ma!

Blanche: Hi, we're back.
Rose: We helped Stan pick out a ring for Katherine. I feel terrible. I think we spent too much money.
Blanche: Stop worrying about the money. We're talking about love.
Rose: I still think we spent too much.
Sophia: You didn't spend it. The yutz spent it. That's what makes him a yutz.

Dorothy: Oh, Ma, you will not believe what a terrible day we've been having.
Sophia: What are you telling me for? You think I'm hiding Father Flanagan under here? I got my own problems.
Dorothy: What's wrong, Ma?
Sophia: Today was the worst day I've ever had at a hospital, not counting the unfortunate mistake Dr. Feldman made during my gall bladder surgery. You ever tried passing a sponge?
Rose: What happened, Sophia?
Sophia: I got stuck with the meanest patient in the history of medicine. I mean, just because a person has two weeks to live, doesn't mean he has to be cranky.
Dorothy: Come on, Ma. The man is dying. I mean, have some sympathy.
Sophia: Hey, you met this DeKimmel character. You try having sympathy for a guy like that.

Dorothy: Oh, this is disgusting.
Sophia: What's disgusting?
Dorothy: Your cure for the flu.
Sophia: Hey, that remedy's been in our family for generations.
Rose: And it always works?
Sophia: Always. Of course, I never saw anyone eat it before. Usually, you just throw a glop on the vaporizer.

Dorothy: Of course, breaking the news will not be easy.
Sophia: Want my advice? Wait a couple of hours before you do. Stuff like this can put a real damper on happy hour.

Dorothy: Rose, how about a piece of Bundt cake?
Rose: Oh, no, thanks.
Blanche: I'll try some, Dorothy.
Sophia: "Try some." Right, like it's some big experiment, like you got no idea what it tastes like. Like you don't shovel it in by the pound every chance you get.
Dorothy: Ma!

Blanche: Why is there a big hairy beast in my house?
Sophia: My guess is because he bought you dinner.