Dorothy: Ma, you don't have any clothes on.
Sophia: Tell me about it. I just walked ten blocks. I got a belly button full of tweed.
Dorothy: Ma, what the hell happened?
Sophia: In the middle of bingo, Murray Hazeltine sits down. He's the big practical joker at the center. Believe me, Howie Mandel is funnier. Anyway, he tells me to sniff his carnation for good luck. I take one whiff, and bingo.
Dorothy: He squirted your dress with ink.
Sophia: Actually, it was Del Monte prune juice. It's free at the center. It's a come-on. They make their real money on the powdered toilet seat rentals.
Dorothy: So what happened to your clothes?
Sophia: Murray took them to have them cleaned. Dorothy, I still can't believe it happened. I've never been so humiliated.
Dorothy: Ma, honey, there's no reason for you to be embarrassed. He plays tricks on everybody.
Sophia: I'm talking about on my way home. My belt came loose in front of a construction site. Nobody whistled, and two guys went home sick.

Dorothy: Ma, why don't you sit right over here and read your magazine, okay?
Sophia: Oh. Okay. [sits down without a sound] Don't try to outsmart me, Dorothy. I got the mind of a fox and the butt muscles of Baryshnikov.

Rose: Sophia, what are you doing with that heavy coat on inside the house?
Sophia: You tell me, Rose.
Dorothy: Ma!
Rose: Dorothy, was Sophia naked just now, or does her dress really need ironing?

Rose: Oh, we really enjoyed your lecture on modern sculpture.
Laszlo: I didn't think anyone was paying attention.
Rose: Oh, we sure were. Especially Dorothy. She even talked about taking up sculpting.
Laszlo: Really, Dorothy?
Dorothy: Oh, no, I didn't.
Rose: Yes, you did. You said you'd like to help him mold his clay or buff his marble anytime.

Sophia: Dorothy, I'm glad you're home. I was just upstairs poking around the attic and look what I found. Your grandmother's antique kaleidoscope. Here. Take a look.
Dorothy: Ma, you must really think I'm stupid.
Sophia: What, we don't have an attic?
Dorothy: I am not falling for this. It's another one of your practical jokes. If I look through that, I'll get charcoal around my eye.
Sophia: All right, Dorothy. Fine. Why don't we just call a truce with a nice piece of peanut brittle?
Dorothy: Come on, Ma. The peanut brittle is an even older gag than the kaleidoscope. I'll open the can, snakes will come out. Honey, face it, I am too smart for you. I am not falling for more of your practical jokes.
[As Dorothy sits down, an expulsion of air is heard]
Dorothy: Except for this whoopee cushion.
[Sophia opens the can of peanut brittle and enjoys a bite]

Blanche: Oh, I am so mad.
Rose: Blanche, I can explain.
Blanche: Explain what? It's got nothing to do with you. It's Laszlo. I just saw some of the sketches he's been doing of me, Rose. He never lets me see them. So today I looked through his things and found some. They're horrible. My hair's all big and frizzy. The body's all droopy and saggy. The woman in those sketches is a dog.
Rose: Blanche.
Blanche: She's a clown.
Rose: Blanche.
Blanche: She's just a hideous, wrinkled, old bag.
Rose: Blanche, the woman in those sketches is me.
Blanche: I know she sounds like you, honey, but she's not.

Blanche: She's been posing for Laszlo, too.
Rose: He asked me to.
Blanche: I sure don't know why. He can go to Sea World to see a naked whale.
Rose: Or to your bathtub.

Blanche: You, too?
Dorothy: He asked me last Thursday.
Blanche: Well, I am stunned.
Rose: I'm relieved.
Blanche: Relieved?
Rose: Well, sure. The woman you saw in those horrible drawings must have been Dorothy.

Blanche: You went for the same reason Rose went: To get your hands on my man.
Dorothy: What exactly makes you think he's your man?
Sophia: Who?
Blanche: Maybe that I found him first.
Sophia: Who?
Dorothy: He dumped you for me.
Sophia: Who?
Dorothy: Laszlo, Ma.
Sophia: Who's Laszlo?
Rose: A Hungarian artist we've all been posing nude for.
Sophia: In the future, a simple "none of your business, Sophia" will suffice.

Dorothy: Oh, let's face it, girls. We have no idea which one of us Laszlo wants to use.
Blanche: Well, I think it's obvious, Dorothy. The man is an artist. He has taste. He cannot help but pick the woman with the most grace, style, femininity...
[As Blanche sits down on the kitchen chair, an expulsion of air is heard]