Sophia: He looks pretty dead to me.
Dorothy: All right, Ma, give me your mirror.
Rose: What for?
Dorothy: Every morning I hold it under Ma's nose. If it fogs up, I start the coffee.

Marlowe: Nice try, ma' am, but Philip and Gloria are innocent of those crimes.
Dorothy: Perhaps, but they are both murderers.
Sophia: Sit down, Dorothy. Don't make a fool of yourself.
Marlowe: Would you care to explain?
Dorothy: In the first place, it is unlikely that Gloria murdered her father. Statistics show that patricide is overwhelmingly a male crime. Although daughters frequently murder their mothers!

Rose: You know, back in Minnesota, I was known as the Sherlock Holmes of St. Olaf.
Dorothy: Figured out which one was Shinola, did you, Rose?
Rose: The hard way.

Rose: Blanche, you're wearing my earrings.
Blanche: Oh, I know that.
Rose: But when I asked you before where they were, you said you didn't know, and now you're wearing them.
Blanche: Well, Rose, there could be two explanations. Either I was lying, or I was wrong about the number of explanations.

Blanche: Is there any chance I could persuade you girls to join me for a murder-mystery weekend?
Dorothy: Blanche, are you kidding? I have read every word Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler ever wrote. Now, Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe have become a part of me. "She had more curves than the Monaco Grand Prix and was twice as dangerous. Her jewelry was mute testimony that Charlie Chaplin wasn't the only tramp who hit it big in this town."
Sophia: You do this on first dates, don't you, Dorothy?

Kendall: I recognize that. It's a rare Mayan sacrificial dagger. That could prove to be significant.
Marlowe: Undoubtedly the weapon used to kill Mrs. Forsythe, but obviously her husband was shot.
Rose: Then there must be a gun.
Marlowe: South side?
Rose: Uncanny.

Man: Philip did it!
Woman: Gloria did it!
Sophia: It was Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick. Oh, she says, "The butler did it," and I'm the idiot?

Vaczy: He's dead, all right. Steak knife right through the heart.
Rose: That must be what killed him.
Vaczy: St. Olaf?
Rose: It's like I'm wearing a sign.

Blanche: How can I be accused of murder? I am a Devereaux. Things like this usually happen to people named Petrillo.
Sophia: I take offense at that. No one in my family ever, ever left a body to be found.

Sophia: So wait a minute. You mean those guys were all in on it?
Blanche: I was in on it, too.
Dorothy: Oh, come on, you were not.
Blanche: Oh, all right. I was not. Damn it, I just hate to be the brunt of jokes.
Dorothy: Funny, you don't mind being the brunt of limericks.