Eddie: Sweetie, we dragged these people screaming into the 20th Century. We gave them all the mod-cons, darling. We gave them the non-squat toilet… toilet tissue, darling. I mean, how do you think they used to wipe their bottoms before we came along?
Patsy: Old bits of hoof.
Patsy: Oh, God. Thank bloody Christ for that!
Edina: No no, I’m not drinking, I’m not bloody drinking.
Patsy: What shall you drink then?
Edina: I shall drink water….it’s a mixer Patsy, we have it with whiskey.
Edina: When we first came here, it was so beautiful. It was just like a little…a little tiny little oasis, darling, here.
Patsy: Yeah…with like a town.
Humphrey: And with quite a number of quite decent five-star international hotels…and a jaccuzi.
Patsy: Yeah…and an airport.
Edina: Yeah alright, alright, alright. I was just trying to be poetic.
Patsy: Oh, hurrah, hurrah, bloody buggery hurray.
Edina: Saffy, look at Mummie, look at me. Do I need surgery?
Saffy: Yes, have your mouth sewn up.
Saffie: I’m studying the indigenous people of that particular region of North Africa for my Anthroplology module in college this term… it would be really great to be able to go there and study.
Edina: Study?!? You don’t go to Marrakech to study, darling.
Patsy: No you don’t!
Edina: There are a lot of reasons to go to Marrakech, and studying is NOT one of them, sweetie. I mean you go to Marrakech…you go for, I don’t know… drugs, dirt cheap bits and rugs…
Patsy: Yeah…easy-going sex with gorgeous under-age youths…
Edina: Yeah! Sex changes, wasn’t it…Pats? …Well, not now, anyway. Not now. Still, darling, you don’t go there to study some ingenuous peasants for an anthology molecule.
Patsy: One snap of my fingers and I can raise hemlines so high the world’s your gynecologist.
Jackie (Patsy’s sister): Our mother was like a sprinkler scattering bastard babies to the four corners of the earth.
Nurse: Oh there you go again – mistaking me for someone who gives a damn! Who cares if you’re fat or thin…who cares if you live or die?!
Saffie: Where’s Patsy?
Edina: She went into the shop with all the dried-up things.
Saffie: Well, she should feel at home, then.
Eddie: Surgery, sweetie. Lipo, on the hands and stomach, bum lift, tit lift, lose a rib and see what happens with my lips!
Edina: Would you like a bit of Bollie, sweetie?
Patsy: Just a smidge.
Edina: You only work in a shop, you know. You can drop the attitude.
Saffie (scream): Oooh! Mum, that man pinched me!!
Patsy: Darling, don’t worry. He was obviously very old and completely blind.
Eddie: I am civilized to my platform toes.
Edina: I like these here…these shoes. And the televisions…I like this. And I also want one of those blood-heads, you know, those frozen blood-heads filled with blood. Anything that’s in the Saatchi collection, I want things like that, alright. I also want….everything. Alright? Everything. It all looks like bollocks, so it must be worth something.
Edina: Hold your nose, darling. Meat.
Edina: Gin and tonic, sweetie?
Patsy: Ooh, gin and tonic!
(Eddie is arrested for stealing a case of wine)
Patsy: My name is Patsy Stone and I am an alcoholic, and what she did was an act of humanitarian mercy.
Sandra, the Yankee psychiatrist: Hi…you really interest me. I’d really like to talk to you. Now don’t worry – I’m a therapist. I’m Gestalt.
Patsy: And I’m Ga-Going.
Edina: Saffie, I’m outta here. I’m going to go change and have lunch with Pats, alright?
Sandra: You really are very aggressive to her. Do you perhaps feel that you blame and hold your daughter responsible for your aging…for your loss of looks?
Edina (rolls eyes): Noooo…what’s your excuse?!?
Edina: Oooh, sweetie…darling…oh god, sweetie what a day, what a day I’ve had sweetie, darling. (throws herself down on kitchen table) I have been at work since I left here this morning!
Saffie: You want some lunch?
Edina: How dare they spit at me! A nation that has a pillowcase with a slit in it as a national costume.
Bubble: I shall endeavor to transcribe it on my pad, photocopy it and file it for future reference.
Patsy: You know, I sometimes wonder what the point of having children is if they are not going to turn up for your launches. Did you tell him how important for you it was, darling?
Eddie: Yeah, I tell him. I faxed the bloody dean and the bullocky halls of residence and the buggery mountain rescue. I mean, what more can I do?
Patsy: Nothing. And you shouldn’t have to. I mean, look at you. You’ve been a fantastic mother. You’ve let them ruin your figure. Your stomach is stretched beyond recognition, you’ve got tits down to your knees and what for, for God’s sake?