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: 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!

Rose: Oh, Dorothy.
Blanche: Oh, you're beautiful.
Sophia: Oh, pussycat, look at you. But to tell you the truth, I was hoping you'd use my wedding dress.
Dorothy: That's nice, Ma. As what? A hand puppet?

Rose: I should've known this was gonna happen. You should never work with friends. You're fired.
Blanche: You can't fire me. That's against the law. That's sex discrimination.
Rose: Oh. Well, I'll give you one more chance. Wait a minute! How is it sex discrimination?
Blanche: Well, that's what I was doing this afternoon when I didn't get this work done.

Blanche: Come on. I heard you laughing. What's so funny?
Sophia: For starters, Jean is a lesbian.
Dorothy: Ma.
Blanche: What's funny about that?
Sophia: You aren't surprised?
Blanche: Of course not. I mean, I've never known any personally, but isn't Danny Thomas one?
Dorothy: Not Lebanese, Blanche. Lesbian.
Blanche: Lesbian. Lesbian. Lesbian?! But isn't that where one woman and another...
Dorothy: We already know what it means.

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.

Blanche: I don't understand this, but these men are acting crazy.
Sophia: You're telling me. I haven't been hit on like this since I stopped hanging out at the midnight show of Harold and Maude.

Blanche: Get away from me, you bloodhounds. I have nothing to say to you. Except this: From now on, when my name appears in print, it had better read "Blanche Devereaux, 39".

Sophia: Let me tell you two a story.
Dorothy & Blanche: No.
Sophia: A short story.
Dorothy & Blanche: No.
Sophia: An anecdote. I won't take no for an answer. Picture this. Ninety-year-old twins, Ralph & Nunzio, sitting on a park bench. Ralph says to Nunzio, "Hey, whatever happened to that streaking craze?" And Nunzio says, "What streaking craze?" And Ralph says, "Remember, when everybody took off their clothes and ran down the street." So Nunzio says, "Hey, that sounds like fun. I think I'll do it right now." So, at 90 years old, he gets naked and goes off down the street, right past these two old ladies, Carlotta and Maria. Maria turns to Carlotta and says, "What the hell was that?" And Carlotta says, "I don't know, but whatever it was, it sure needs ironing."
Dorothy: Ma, what's the point?
Sophia: With a story, you get a point. With an anecdote, pure entertainment.

Dorothy: OK, Ma, if this is what you really want to do...
Sophia: It's not what I want to do, it's what I have to do. Dorothy, today is my anniversary, and I barely remember getting married. You know, I hate getting old. You always seem to be losing something. First it's your eyesight. Then people are telling you to turn down the TV set when you can barely hear it. And you could live with that. But this? They're trying to take something from me that I just won't give. I can't let this happen, Dorothy. I can't lose my Sal. Not again.