Blanche: Well, Rose has a date and I don't. What are the odds of something like this happening? There's probably a better chance of getting struck by lightning in a house you won from Ed McMahon.

Ernie: How's your souffle, Rose?
Rose: Delicious. I never did get the hang of making these. Boy, there is nothing more frustrating than waiting for one of these suckers to rise and it just won't. ... That's no reflection on you, Ernie.

Rose: If you ask me, people rely too much on sex in relationships, anyway.
Ernie: You're right. I mean, what is sex, after all?
Rose: Two clunky old bodies thrashing around against each other. Like animals.
Ernie: You get all sweaty and flushed.
Rose: Your hair gets mussed.
Ernie: You lose your breath.
Rose: You lose your earrings.
Ernie: Your mouth waters.
Rose: Your nose runs.
Ernie: Your heart races.
Rose: Your blood races.
Ernie: Rose.
Rose: Say it, Ernie.
Ernie: It's time, Rose.
Rose: Check, please!

Blanche: Well, looks like everything worked out after all.
Rose: Were you three listening to our conversation?
Dorothy: Absolutely not. You know we would never eavesdrop.
Sophia: They made me do it. When I turn my hearing aid up to ten, I can hear a canary break wind in Lauderdale.

Dorothy: Blanche, I'm sure it's a fluke that nobody called you for a date.
Sophia: They must have painted the men's room walls at the Pizza Hut.

Dorothy: Ma, what is going on? Ever since you got that feather in the mail, you've been acting like a spy. I'm surprised you didn't check to see if someone was hiding out in the broom closet.
Sophia: Broom closet, right.
Dorothy: This is ridiculous, Ma.
Blanche: Oh, Dorothy, now she's right. I happen to know for a fact that at least two people can fit into the broom closet with room left over for a medium-sized cold-cut platter.

Sophia: I hoped I could spare you this, Dorothy, but it's best you know what's going on. It's about Sonny Venuchio as in the famous Venuchio vendetta.
Dorothy: I never heard of that.
Sophia: Who asked you? This is a speech, not a quiz. It began when your great-grandfather, Nicodemo, was run down by Marco Venuchio's milk wagon.
Blanche: He ran him down in cold blood?
Sophia: Very cold. Grandpa was already dead. Unfortunately, there was a gravediggers' strike, so the family was using him as a temporary scarecrow. The high winds tipped him over and Marco used him as a speed bump.
Blanche: But, Sophia, if it wasn't Marco's fault-
Sophia: It doesn't have to be his fault. It's a vendetta, not The People's Court. Anyway, there's only one Venuchio alive today. Sonny. That feather from Vito meant he's somewhere down here in Miami, so now it's up to me to take care of him.
Dorothy: Oh, Ma. Do you really expect us to believe that you're gonna go through with this?
Sophia: Believe what you want, Dorothy. Sicilians take these things very seriously. You know what might happen if I didn't do my duty?
Blanche: What?
Sophia: Free swimming lessons with a cement kickboard.

Sophia: Gin.
Blanche: Sophia, we're playing hearts.
Sophia: I know. I felt like drinking some. If I'm gonna get through a boring Saturday night with you two, I'll need a buzz.

Sophia: Oh, from Sicily. A gift from Cousin Vito.
Dorothy: A feather. That's a message of some kind, isn't it?
Sophia: What are you babbling about?
Dorothy: Don't play dumb, with me, Ma. Everything from Sicily means something. A black rose means a family member is dying. A white carnation means a newborn is on the way. A dead rabbit means, "My husband knows. Get out of town."
Rose: Knows what?
Dorothy: The score to South Pacific, Rose.

Rose: In fact, I think I love him.
Dorothy: Oh, honey. Rose, that's wonderful.
Rose: But I still can't understand why he hasn't even approached the subject of... you know, sex. I mean, not that I'm in a hurry or anything but we have been dating a while now.
Blanche: Honey, sometimes you have to stoke a man's fire a little bit.
Sophia: Words of wisdom from the human torch.