Madge Hardwick: My dear, when you're as old as I am, you take your men as you find them - if you can find them.
Horace Hardwick: You know how wives are.
Jerry Travers: No I don't. How are they?
Bates: Sic transit gloria mundi. "Thus passes the glory of the world."
Dale Tremont: Madge, have you any objections if I scare your husband so that he'll never look at another woman?
Madge Hardwick: Dale, no husband is ever too scared to look.
Jerry Travers: Are you afraid of thunder?
Dale Tremont: Oh, no. It's just the noise.
Jerry Travers: You know what thunder is, don't you?
Dale Tremont: Of course. It's something about the air.
Jerry Travers: No, no. When a clumsy cloud from here meets a fluffy little cloud from there, he billows towards her. She scurries away and he scuds right up to her. She cries a little and there you have you showers. He comforts her. They spark. That's the lightning. They kiss. Thunder.
Jerry Travers: I think I feel an attack coming on. There's only one thing that can stop me.
Dale Tremont: Why, you must tell me what it is.
Jerry Travers: My nurses always put their arms around me.
Horace Hardwick: What kind of plane?
Jerry Travers: One with wings.
Horace Hardwick: You mean to sit there and tell me that that girl slapped your face in front of all those people for nothing?
Jerry Travers: Well, what would you have done? Sold tickets?
Dale Tremont: I dropped up from the room below where I've been trying to get some sleep.
Jerry Travers: Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't realise I was disturbing you. You see, every once in a while I suddenly find myself... dancing.
Dale Tremont: Oh, I suppose it's some kind of an affliction.
Alberto Beddini: As Mrs. Adam, what would you wear?
Dale Tremont: Fig leaves.
Madge Hardwick: You know, as long as you remain a spinster you'll remain a target for every philandering male. You should really get a husband to call your own.
Alberto Beddini: I promised my dresses that I would take them to Venice and that you would be in them.
Jerry Travers: In dealing with a girl or horse, one just lets nature take its course.
Horace Hardwick: Mr. Travers is in trouble. He has practically put his foot right into a hornets' nest.
Bates: But hornets' nests grow on trees, sir.
Horace Hardwick: Never mind that. We have got to do something.
Bates: What about rubbing it with butter, sir?
Horace Hardwick: You blasted fool, you can't rub a girl with butter.
Bates: My sister got into a hornets' nest and we rubbed HER with butter, sir.
Horace Hardwick: That's the wrong treatment, you should've used mud - Never mind that.
