Rose: I remember the best sex of my whole life.
Dorothy: Was it difficult to get out of the relationship afterwards?
Rose: No, not really. Poor Charlie died in the middle of it.
Blanche: Was that really the best sex you ever had with him?
Rose: Yeah. Oh, there was something wild about him that night. Although I did think it was strange when he started yelling, "Rose, I'm going! I'm going!"
Dorothy: Talk about your mixed emotions.

Sophia: It means that ever since he made a fortune on that baked potato opener, he's been comin' on to you like gangbusters, and I don't like it. Not that I've ever actually seen gangbusters But I did see Ghostbusters. I didn't like that, either. I mean, they couldn't give the black guy one funny line? And how about that sequel? Dorothy, what the hell were we just talkin' about?

Rose: What was the best sex you ever had, Blanche?
Dorothy: Oh, way to go, Rose. Look, Blanche, it's late, there's only one cheesecake left, so let's make menopause the cutoff point.
Blanche: Best sex. Oh, it's just so hard to rate these things. There's degree of difficulty, style points, choice of music... Did they land on their feet during the dismount? Different people have different strengths. It's just impossible to tell, but anything over a nine is excellent.
Rose: Over a nine?!
Blanche: Points, Rose. Points.

Dorothy: Look, I'm mad enough at myself as it is. I mean, Stanley Zbornak made me weak in the knees. What, you think I'm proud of that?
Blanche: Who made the first move?
Dorothy: I guess I did. It was dark, and Stan stopped the car. I swear to you, I thought I was setting the parking brake.

Rose: The truth is, she's a sweet girl looking for a friend. And we do have a common bond. She used to be a newscaster. Now she's just an assistant like me. So there's this cognitive dissonance between her actual and her ideal self which causes her to be practically dysfunctional. But of course, I'm no psychologist.
Blanche: No, you're a nitwit. How come you know those words?
Dorothy: Blanche, come on, it's not nice calling her a nitwit. But since the cat's out of the bag... How do you know those words?
Rose: I guess it's from reading The American Journal of Abnormal Psychology. It's published in St. Olaf, you know. In fact, my Uncle Gunther used to be the editor.
Sophia: And what were you, the centerfold?
Blanche: I'm sorry, but I refuse to believe you have ever read a scientific journal.
Rose: Believe what you want. See if I care. Hypersexual bitch.

Dorothy: Blanche, I need to talk to you privately.
Blanche: OK.
Dorothy: There's this person, someone I've known for quite a while, and lately there seems to be this attraction developing, an attraction I've been trying to deny. [Blanche stands up and backs away] Blanche, what are you doing?
Blanche: It's a curse. My beauty's always been a curse. I'm sorry, Dorothy, but like the fatal blossom of the graceful jimson weed, I entice with my fragrance but can provide no succor.
Dorothy: I'm talking about Stanley, you idiot.
Blanche: Get outta here. Stan has the hots for me?
Dorothy: For me, not you, fatal blossom. For me.

Rose: We were telling Best Sex Ever stories, Sophia.
Dorothy: Yeah, but now we're tired of telling them, so why don't we go to bed, huh?
Sophia: No, wait. It's a good thing I'm up, because it so happens that I have a story for you, the sex story to end all sex stories. Sicily, 1922. I stop by a little trattoria. No, wait. I'm thinkin' of the best meal I ever had.

Dorothy: When Stan comes over tonight, I'll talk to him. I'll apologize to him for leading him on. I only hope I don't hurt his feelings.
Blanche: Well, there are worse things in this world than hurt feelings, Dorothy.
Sophia: That's true, Pussycat. As we say back in Sicily, sticks and stones can break your bones, but cement pays homage to tradition.

Sophia: All right, Dorothy, I think it would be a good idea if we rehearsed how you're gonna break up with Stan tonight. OK, I'll be Stan.
Blanche: I didn't know you were dating Stan.
Dorothy: I am not, and I don't need to rehearse.
Blanche: Oh, I think it's a good idea, Dorothy. If you like, I'll be Stan.
Sophia: Beat it. I already got dibs on Stan. You be Dorothy.
Blanche: Don't be stupid. Besides, Rose ought to be Dorothy.
Rose: No, thanks. But I'll play Stan.
Sophia: Well, I'm not playing Dorothy, although playing a sap on stilts would be a cakewalk. No offense, Pussycat.
Dorothy: None taken, you cankerous little prune.

Blanche: Oh, Sophia, you're up. Were we makin' too much noise?
Sophia: No, I'm awake because I was feeling frisky. What say we get out the Ouija board and scare up our husbands?