Margaret: Actually, I’m from Atlanta. I’m Margaret Spencer.

Dorothy: Whoa!

Rose: What a coincidence! Blanche’s father is marrying a Margaret Spencer from Atlanta. Only she’s much older… I think. What do you think, Dorothy?

Dorothy: Whoa!

Dorothy: You find something to rhyme with “Miami”, hotshot!

Rose: Mammy! Whammy, clammy, Alabamy, hootenanny, salami!

Dorothy: “Hootenanny” is marginal, and I refuse to accept “salami”.

Sophia: Hello? Oh, that’s too bad. A tragedy. A terrible tragedy. May she rest in peace. Great news. Theresa Lombardi passed away.

Dorothy: Ma, what’s so great about that?

Sophia: Her husband Freddy he has nothing to do, and neither of us has seen Ruthless People.

Blanche: Come on. Sit down here on the sofa betwixt us.

Dorothy: Betwixt?

Rose: Another word you don’t know! I’ll bet you didn’t even know the thrice of them were sitting on the couch together.

Big Daddy: Do my eyes deceive me or do I see Sophia Petrillo standing before me? Or did you all get Sophia Loren as a new roommate?

Sophia: Get out the boots. He’s back.

Big Daddy: You’re still as pretty as a ladybug sunning itself on a lily pad on a misty spring day south of Savannah.

Dorothy: Could you be more specific, Big Daddy?

Blanche: This is the last drop of that perfume Big Daddy gave me on my 21st. That was 20 years ago!

Rose: Ooh, Blanche! If your 21st birthday was then, you’d only be 41.

Blanche: That’s right.

Rose: You look terrible for your age.

Blanche: Here! Rose, Dorothy, here, smell me.

Dorothy: I only do that with the milk, Blanche. You know the rules.

Rose: [singing] Miami you’re cuter than, an intrauterine…

Dorothy: Who the hell says “thrice”?

Rose: It’s a word.

Dorothy: So is “intrauterine”. But it does not belong in a song.