The Quote Topic: Can I quote you on that?

[Razzberry]

I can't play Elvis's grandmother, I won't do it. - Joan
So what brings you crawling back to Hollywood?  Another guest shot on Wagon Train?  - Bette to  ex-husband                                                                                             Her unemployment is my long-simmering revenge.  - Jack Warner about Davis 

I ran into the gardners outside, they want to know when they'll get paid. We owe them two months. - Mamacita
And what did you tell them?
That it was an honor to prune Miss Crawford's bush and to shut up.                                                   

Edited March 6, 2017 by Razzberry

[Writing Wrongs]

We're skipping dessert. I'm already getting diabetes. -Hedda Hopper

[Razzberry]

Gosh, I should thank some people.  I'm just so bad at remembering names. - Marilyn Monroe

I've got great tits too, but I don't throw them in everyone's face! - Joan

[Razzberry]

Can I please have your autograph?  It's for my grandmother, she's loved you since she was a kid.

Bette was the undisputed queen of the lot.  Playing one Oscar-nominated role after another.  She was difficult, expensive, and far too powerful, especially for a woman.  Joan was Jack's message to Bette - 'You're not the only bitch in the kennel'.

They're not getting along, they're teaming up.  It's like the Hitler-Stalin pact. ~ Bob

[Razzberry]

[ElectricBoogaloo]

Adam: What was behind their feud? Why did they hate each other so much?
Olivia: Feuds are never about hate. Feuds are about pain.

Golden Globes Announcer: Please welcome to the stage, tonight's winner, Miss Marilyn Monroe! 
Joan: I've got great tits, too, but I don't throw them in everyone's face.

Joan: Is there anything we can do about these lines? I'm afraid I'm gonna be served for Thanksgiving dinner.
Norah: The best you can do for this? High collars. Turtle neck for turkey neck.
Joan: Christ, Nonah, can't you give me some hope?
Norah: You know how it is. Men age, they get character. Women age, they get lost.

Hedda: From what I hear, you stumbled out of there in a drunken fit.
Joan: Well, you know how those award dinners can be. I must've eaten something that disagreed with me.
Hedda: Crow?

Hedda: You know my readers would be fascinated with hearing the thoughts of yesterday's it girl about today's.
Joan: There can only be room for one it girl. Is that right?
Hedda: Well, men built the pedestal, darling, not me. There's only room for one goddess at a time.
Joan: Well, men may have built the pedestal, but it's the women who keep chipping away at it until it comes tumbling down.

Joan: Everything written for women seem to fall into just three categories: ingenues, mothers, or gorgons.

Stage Manager: There's a lady here to see you.
Bette: Who is it?
Stage Manager: Joan Crawford.
Bette: You're fucking kidding me.

Studio executive: We feel like Crawford and Davis may be a little long in the tooth. Why don't we go just a little bit younger? How about Hepburn in the Blanche role?
Aldrich: Well, Katherine Hepburn's the same age as Davis. I think she's a year older.

Reporter: Miss Davis, how do you feel about Baby Jane Hudson? We hear she's pretty mean.
Bette: She's full of venom and doesn't mince words. We have nothing in common.

Joan: I expected more from you, Bob, I truly did, though why I don't know. Starting with my no-good father, who ran off with a stripper from Galveston, to Louis B. Mayer, I have been lied to and cheated on by men my entire life. I don't know why you should be any different.

Gary: So I've been reading about you and Crawford. Start shooting next week?
Bette: Day five I get to kick her right in the head. I can't wait.

Bette: Our whole marriage was a Twilight Zone. You went to bed with Margo Channing and you woke up with me.
Gary: So why did we stop living together again?
Bette: You wanted me to starch your shirts and greet you at the door with a martini in hand and ask, "How did your day at work go, darling?" I'm the one that needed a wife.

Hedda: Welcome to the house that fear built.

Hedda: Can I get you ladies something to drink?
Bette: Scotch.
Joan: Just a glass.
Hedda: I take it that's not Pepsi-Cola.
Joan: Vodka. 100 proof. I say if you're going to drink, drink something you like.

Bette: Fish Jell-O. Goody.
Hedda: No, it's aspic, darling. It's all the rage. I thought it'd be the perfect dish for our little tête-à-trois. Something substantial, but transparent.

[ElectricBoogaloo]

Joan: Cut! I'm sorry. Can someone ask an executive to come down to the stage, please? I'm so confused. We're on our honeymoon. We're recruited by the British Secret Service to stop the Nazis, right? Does this make sense to anyone? Can someone explain it to me?

Jack: But aren't you even just a little excited about that pip of a script I sent you?
Bette: Where I play a neglected wife in a black fright wig who tries to abort her child by throwing herself down a hill and then dies?

Bette: I don't need subtext. I need good text.

Bob: The whole crew knows Crawford and Davis are running the show. They double-teamed me. I'm telling you, Harriet, Jack Palance and Lee Marvin would have never pulled this shit.
Harriet: Yeah, they don't have to. They're men.
Bob: Yeah, well, that makes them half as cunning and nowhere near as ruthless.

Hedda: I came here for red meat, not pabulum.

Joan: Bob, will you please tell Miss Davis that I will sue her if she continues to make comments that are injurious to my ability to earn a living?
Bette: Ha! Earn a living? Every time you belch, Pepsi gives you ten grand.

Olivia: Years later, when I heard what was going on, I was furious. I mean, at the time, we didn't know that these two great screen legends, friends of ours, were being manipulated so cruelly by the men around them.
Joan B: Well, not that we could've done anything about it. You know how much power women had back then? Exactly as much as we got now: zippo.

Sylvia: Miss Davis, care to comment on the fact that Miss Crawford says you look old enough to be her mother?
Bette: What's your name, sweetheart?
Sylvia: Sylvia.
Bette: Fuck off, Sylvia.

Bette: I suggest you stop fitting in calls to Parsons between your morning coffee and taking a shit of butterflies and moonbeams and whatever else comes flying out of your ass.

Joan: Mr. Aldrich says he loves my performance.
Bette: Interesting.

Hedda: Davis, she's never been one of us. She's never been a part of this town, not like you have. And she doesn't need the work. Woman lives like a Yankee.

Victor: Well, good morning, Miss Davis. I am such a fan. Doughnut?
Bette: No. Coffee, black, in my dressing room.
Victor: Oh, I'm not craft service. I'm your leading man on this picture.
Bette: Beg your pardon?
Victor: I'm Victor Buono. I'll be playing your love interest.
Bette: I was expecting someone-
Victor: Thinner? Less homosexual?

Bob: At least you've got an Oscar.
Bette: Two.
Bob: Two. I beg your pardon.

Bette: You should be very proud. You started from nothing. Look at all you've accomplished.
Bob: My grandfather was a U.S. Senator. My cousin is Nelson Rockefeller.
Bette: And you overcame all that.

Edited January 5, 2018 by ElectricBoogaloo

[ElectricBoogaloo]

Bette: Who's too pretty?
Pauline: Tony Curtis. Which is why I'm still refusing his dinner invitations.

Bette: I just admire that you make your pictures a family affair.
Bob: It's called nepotism. The town runs on it.
Bette: That is so true. Perhaps we should cast my daughter as the neighbor girl. 
Bob: That's not a bad idea. 
Bette: No, I'm joking, Bob.
Bob: No, come on! B.D.'s the right age. She's got the right amount of teenage sass. 
Bette: She is not an actress. 
Bob: Well, look who her mother is, for Christ sake. The apple can't fall that far from the tree. Now you say she doesn't understand you, doesn't appreciate how hard you work for her. Well, give her a pair of your shoes, and let her walk around for a while.
Bette: And what would Crawford think about that? She has a daughter who's actually an actress, you know.
Bob: Christina's too old for the part.
Bette: She's adopted. She could be talented.

Bette: I see the way your girls are. They're like two well-trained Pomeranians. Just what is your secret?

Joan: It's just that I think I am beginning to understand her a little bit. I mean, she's a single mother working in Hollywood. I don't think you can begin to appreciate, Hedda, just how tough that can be.
Hedda: You know, Joan, I could've gone out and bought myself a passel of brats, too. But why bother? The town's already full of 'em.

Bette: You said he was from Broadway. He's not. I checked. All his stage work is from San Diego.
Bob: Yeah, the Old Globe. He's a distinguished Shakespearian actor.
Bette: Oh, I'm sure his Falstaff is the talk of Tijuana.

Victor: Bob, don't you think it would be better if I just took the entire plate from her?
Bette: Knock yourself out. I ain't hungry.
Victo: Ha! Oh. Oh, that reaction is priceless. I imagine that would be Jane's reaction, too taken aback by Edwin's boorishness. She'd wonder, "Is this man a sophisticated artist or a cheap pig?"
Bette: I guess she'll find out.

Bette: You're good.
Victor: Oh. It's like Mommy just gave me a new pony.

Bette: Where's your wheelchair?
Joan: It's on the set, of course. Why?
Bette: Because you're gonna need it after I break your goddamn legs.

Bette: I'm going to be the first person to have three Oscars. Even though everyone knows I already should have, because I got robbed in 1950.
Joan: That's certainly ungracious, yes, and dismissive of Miss Judy Holliday's winsome performance.
Bette: She won by default! That bitch Anne Baxter, she pushed her way into my category and we split the vote. That's why she won.
Joan: Well, need I remind you that, unlike Eve, you and I share equal billing on this. We're both leads.
Bob: Ladies, why are we fighting about the Oscars? We haven't even finished making this movie yet. Can we please concentrate on the matter at hand? There's room for both of you to succeed. 
Joan: In this town? Are you nuts?
Bette: Fuck off, Bob.
Joan: And it was Gloria Swanson who was robbed in 1950, not you, bitch!

Joan: Does she have to stand there? She's not the director. Why is she standing there?
Bette: If I were the director, I'd tell you to do it again and again until it was convincing.

Joan: Girls? Mommie's home. Girls? Girls!
Mamacita: They're not here. Don't you remember? They start camp today. Two weeks.
Joan: Of course. I guess I'm going to have to get used to it.
Mamacita: To camp?
Joan: No. To this. Coming home to this awful silence.
Mamacita: You deserve silence. Children are hard work. Once the work is done, silence is the reward.

Joan: One day, you you wake up and you find you've no husband. Your career is over. The children are grown and left the nest. And all you're left with is yourself.
Mamacita: Yes. Women outlive men. Children leave. Best get used to it. 
Joan: Oh, Mamacita, how I love your Teutonic pragmatism.

Hedda: So word on the street is that Crawford's walking away with the picture.
Bette: Is that what all the streetwalkers are saying, Hedda?

Hedda: Regardless of what we think of Crawford, she is an institution.
Bette: Or belongs in one if she really thinks you're her friend.
Hedda: Oh, Bette. I'm offering you an opportunity. Give me your side of the story, and then when it all comes out, you won't have to be painted as the bad guy.
Bette: I win awards playing bad guys.
Hedda: But that's on the screen. This is real life.
Bette: Real life? Ha! This isn't real life. This is Hollywood, Hedda. It's all fake, from the manicured lawns in the desert to your manufactured concern.

Bette: Victor, you've got to be more careful. Something like this could ruin your career.
Victor: I hate keeping secrets. I hate lying.
Bette: Lying is what we do for a living, kid.

Jack: If you don't have an ending that works, you don't have a picture, right?
Bob: You want to change the ending.
Jack: No, I don't want to I goddamn it! I want the ending that we agreed on. Crawford dying on the beach. That's what I want. Instead, every time you cut back to her, it looks like she's getting better. It's like fucking Camille in reverse.

[ElectricBoogaloo]

Pauline: You think I'm crazy?
Mamacita: I think this is a marvelous idea.
Pauline: You do?
Mamacita: This is America. No one can tell you you're crazy.

Joan: It's just like 1937 all over again.
Mamacita: When Hitler took Austria.
Joan: No, when they labeled me box office poison. I couldn't get arrested in this god damn town.

Bob: Please tell me these canisters are marked correctly. At the preview for Kiss Me Deadly, the canisters got switched. The atomic bomb went off in the second act.
Projectionist: I hear this one bombs in the first.

Hedda: Yes, all right, she plays a lunatic, but you play a cripple.

Joan: Fuck you, Marty. If I have to find my own projects and wait for you to field offers instead of drumming them up, I don't see the point in having an agent, or a room full of fucking agents. You're all fired!

Jack: All right, so what's this I hear from your agent, huh? I sent you half a dozen scripts. You don't like any of them?
Bob: They're all Baby Jane all over again.
Jack: Well, that's cause you hit on a winning formula.
Bob: It's not a formula, Jack. It was one movie - which nearly killed me being locked up with those two dames. I want to do something a lot less dangerous, you know? Like a, uh, like a war picture or a Western.
Jack: No. Let's leave the war pictures and the Westerns to John Ford, okay? When it comes to two broads beating the hell out of each other, that's where you really shine.
Bob: No, Jack. No more B horror movies. I'm capable of so much more. I'm back now. I want to show people what I can really do.
Jack: What, like your Oscar-winning masterpiece?
Bob: Why not?
Jack: How about because that's never gonna happen? I mean, what do you think, you're like a big star director all of a sudden, Bob? I mean, no offense, but you're a journeyman. Strictly B list. Don't start getting ideas in your head that you're like Michelangelo. You know, you're the wop working in the fucking tile factory. We need tiles.
Bob: Yeah, well, even the schmuck in the tile factory has dreams, Jack.
Jack: Dreams are delusions. And right now, you're delusional.

Jack: When your next movie is a bomb, or the one after that, you'll be back. And you know what? I'll probably take your call. Do you know why? Cause I got a soft spot for losers, Bobby.

Pauline: Miss Crawford, I just need my first bite. Men they will hire based on potential, but women, we need experience.
Joan: I'm not turning you down because you're a woman. I'm turning you down because you're a nobody.

Olivia: With two women stars of our era to suddenly have the most successful picture in the theaters among young people, well, we thought it signaled a sea change.
Joan B: We had thought we'd all start working again. That there'd be a flood of women's pictures.
Olivia: It didn't turn out that way.
Joan B: Sure as hell didn't. The studios thought it was a fluke. They always think it's a fluke when a picture carried by the girls succeeds at the box office.
Olivia: And they so often do.
Joan B: Baby Jane was hot. Joan felt left out in the cold. She did what actors have done since Euripides - she started hitting the bottle.
Adam: So you're saying, on the record, that Joan Crawford was an alcoholic?
Joan B: Oh, I'm not saying it, honey. Joan herself said it. Quote, "The twin curses of being a star are alcoholism and loneliness." End quote.
Adam: Can you explain that sentiment to me?
Joan B: Well, the highs you experience being a star, they're incredible. When you're in a role, you get to fall in love.
Olivia: You get to be glamorous. You can tell people how you feel deep down inside.
Joan B: Oh, it's a constant high. And then, when you don't have a job, a success, or someone else is riding high, it gets very, very quiet. You can hear the voices of doubt. Pick up a bottle, and suddenly the party starts all over again. Pain goes away.

Jack: This is one of the biggest successes you've had in years. And instead of going out there and promoting it and making it bigger, what are you doing? You're sitting around here getting pickled.
Joan: I'm not pickled.
Jack: Like a herring. It's 11:00 in the morning.

Joan: You were never in my corner. All these years, you always thought Davis had more talent than I did.
Jack: She does. She can act rings around you. But your ass is nice and your tits aren't sagging.

Joan: Please stop referring to me as an old broad or I'll have to consult my lawyer. It's slander. And it impairs my ability to secure future work.
Bette: The only thing impairing your ability is a fifth of vodka.

Bette: Jesus Christ, we're a goddamned bona fide hit, and you're incapable of enjoying it.
Joan: Well, it looks like you've been enjoying it enough for the both of us.
Bette: Half the success belongs to you.
Joan: Well then I'd appreciate it if you would enjoy it half as much.

Bob: We both know you're gonna be nominated for another Oscar.
Bette: What if I lose?
Bob: You won't lose.
Bette: A nomination is not gonna be enough to turn this around for me, Bob. I've just proven that I can still open a picture. If the offers aren't coming in now-
Bob: Yeah, but they will come in. And if they don't, I promise you, I will personally write you another big fat fucking hit.
Bette: Yeah. That's what Mankiewicz said, too, right after I lost for All About Eve. I'm still waiting.

Bob: Frank, listen, we have an opportunity here to make a picture that's saying something about the rivalry and greed that civilized the American West.
Frank: It's saying nothing but tits and fistfights and me looking like a real cool daddy.

Jack: I hear the Sinatra dailies are unwatchable.
Bob: Uh, we'll get there.
Jack: Yeah? I also hear that he's treating you like a halfwit toilet attendant.
Bob: Well, I wouldn't say we've, uh, we've hit a groove of mutual respect.
Jack: Come on, Bobby. You can't hide from old Jack. I can hear it in your voice. Your sphincter's clenching up. Which is exactly what I told you would happen.
Bob: I know you're getting some kind of grim satisfaction out of this, but I slaved over that script. I slaved over it. And this suntanned man-child is mutilating it.

Mamacita: One slice each apple, pecan, and whipped cream. With two Pepsi-Colas.
Pauline: Well, no time like the present to develop diabetes.
Mamacita; Miss Joan forbids sweets. She says sugar is a dangerous food. I take my thrills where I can.

Mamacita: Mornings when Miss Joan has a hangover, I take the twins to the library. I'm a new citizen. I learn about my country in the Reference Room. I read the almanac, the atlas, the census report.
Pauline: You didn't tear these out of a library book, did you?

Mamacita: Look here. In 1910, there are how many more men than women?
Pauline: 2. 7 million.
Mamacita: In 1940?
Pauline: Zero point five.
Mamacita: And now we outnumber them by more than one million.
Pauline: Should someone tell the men they're going extinct?

Edited January 6, 2018 by ElectricBoogaloo

[ElectricBoogaloo]

Bette: It's an honor just to be nominated - again.
Reporter: Miss Davis, do you have any comment on the Academy snubbing your costar, Joan Crawford? 
Bette: Define "snub."

Olivia: I truly believed that the ladies would put aside their natural personal enmity, but there were so many people who profited from them being at each other's throats - the studio, the publicity people, and of course, the columnists. I know firsthand. Unscrupulous reporters did everything they could to sow hatred between myself and my own sister.
Adam: The actress Joan Fontaine is your younger sister.
Olivia: Well, she's not that much younger, but yes.
Adam: So there is no feud between you two?
Olivia: A feud implies continuing hostile conduct between two parties. I can't remember an instance where I instigated hostile behavior.
Adam: You refused to speak to her backstage after your 1947 Oscar win.
Olivia: You're referring to that photo of me in Photoplay magazine. I wasn't turning my back on my sister in that photo. I just didn't see that she was there.

Joan: I'm here to offer my services. As it turns out, I'm available to present this year. Either Best Picture or Best Director. You decide which.
Wendell Corey: Oh, well, that's that's very generous.
Joan: Of course I'm going to require a few things. I'd appreciate it if the Academy could pay for my hair and makeup. And, of course, provide a car and a chauffeur.
Wendell: Well, we don't do that for presenters.
Joan: You will for me.

Bette: Livvie, you have to come. The goddamn Hollywood press, they won't be able to say shit about me if there's another woman of comparable stature supporting me.
Olivia: Comparable to Joan's stature, you mean.
Bette: What else would I mean?

Joan: Her third Oscar.
Hedda: You always did stink at math, Joanie. Not a third Oscar. Her tenth nomination, her eighth loss. That's the way you got to think of it.

Joan: Who do you think is her closest competition?
Hedda: Well, they're not gonna give it to that buzzard Hepburn. She's never once showed up to the ceremony. I'll bad-mouth her a little bit, too. Her and those slacks. Remick's no threat; they all still think of her as a television actress. Push for Page or Bancroft. Lean on the "Hollywood reaches out to Broadway" angle. One of them gets it, it'll sting her even more.
Joan: You hate her more than I do.
Hedda: I find her vulgar. Besides, she thinks we're all hypocrites.
Joan: Aren't we, though, Hedda?
Hedda: Well, of course we are, but I'm not gonna be judged for it, not by her. Hypocrisy is the tribute vice must pay to virtue.

Hedda: Chuck, it's Hedda. I just had to call and say how much I loved you in El Cid. How I adore a man in a leather skirt!

[ElectricBoogaloo]

Jack: Goddamn it! I created this genre! Hagsploitation! It even has its own word! And you know who came up with that? 
Dennis: The New York Times. 
Jack: No! Me!

Mamacita: Please be brief. She must conserve her energy for Albuquerque.
Hedda: Is she crossing the desert on foot?

Joan: I have to convert this dust bowl look to a desert look and work out this awful crick in my neck, and then back on the road for that goddamn Lizzie Borden routine.
Hedda: You're not having a gay old time greeting fans coast to coast? 
Joan: Does a Ringling Brothers elephant have a gay old time?

Hedda: If I am finished, and the sum of my life's work is tallied, am I satisfied? With reams of gossip?
Joan: Oh, how can you say that? Look at all the careers that you have launched. Mine included.
Hedda: I didn't muse on the careers I'd nurtured. I thought about the ones I destroyed. The reds, the queers, the whores, the cheaters and dopeheads. The ones who cursed me, sued me, offed themselves. And I felt good. That I'd contributed to our moral economy.
Joan: And so you have. You have been nothing short of a bulwark against the tide of smut crashing over this culture.

Harriet: You smashed all of my Sinatra records.
Bob: Yeah, I thought it'd make me feel better, but it didn't.
Harriet: You know, I knew 4 for Texas was gonna stink, even before Sinatra shit all over it.
Bob: Then what'd you go through with it for?
Harriet: Because Jack Warner thought it was a bad idea, and I didn't want to give that prick the satisfaction of being right.

Jack: Goldwyn is finished, Mayer is dead, and Selznick is just one pastrami sandwich away from a coronary. But Jack L. Warner still runs Warner Brothers. And incidentally, how many brothers do you see standing in this room?
Bob: You're the only one, Jack.
Jack: That's right. I'm the last goddamn dinosaur. And I am up to my tits in tar.

Joan: Another horror picture, Bob?
Bob: I wouldn't classify it like that.
Bette: Weren't you the one that said we shouldn't be repeating ourselves?
Bob: This is completely different. This time, you get to kill the cleaning lady.

Jack: You can't work for Zanuck. We have an agreement.
Bob: No, no, we don't. But I do have a contract with Zanuck. Oh, and I'm not working for him, we're partners. I have full autonomy, final cut, and some respect.
Jack: Respect is cheap.

Bette: You probably have plans after this to accept another award. Maybe the Nobel Prize on behalf of Dr. King?

Bette: Matches. Goodie.
Joan: I remembered your charming habit of striking matches on the sole of your shoe. So I found those for you.
Bette: Can I use them to set you on fire?

Joan: I was also wondering, do we really need all these ellipses? "Only Charlotte," dot, dot, dot. I mean, wouldn't a comma be more appropriate? Even a semicolon.
Bette: We're not submitting it to the Library of Congress, Joan.

Bette: Don't get me wrong. I am not opposed to blood and guts, all right? I mean, Shakespeare, for Christ's sake, he had a woman eat her sons in a pie, but there is a fine line between art and trash, and that line is plausibility.

Joan: I'm sorry you're not camera-ready, Bette, but we don't have eight hours to wait for you to put your face on.

Hal: If you're here to smother me with a pillow, wait 'til I fall asleep.

Bob: I want you to come with me.
Harriet: To the airport? 
Bob: Baton Rouge.
Harriet: Oh, Louisiana this time of year? No, thank you.

Edited January 7, 2018 by ElectricBoogaloo

[merylinkid]

Some of these lines are so good even on re-read.   Thanks for posting them.

[ElectricBoogaloo]

Joan: There's nothing as exciting as the first day on a set, is there?
PA: It's my fifth day, but sure.

Joseph: I got to hand it to you, Bette. After all you've been through, giving Joan the Oscar bait this go-around? It's mighty white of you.
Bette: The picture is called Hush Hush, Sweet Charlotte. I play Charlotte.
Joseph: Oh, well, then, let me congratulate you on your divine work in All About Margo Channing.

Victor: Where's Joan?
Bette: Oh, she's out catching groundhogs. To replenish her wig supply. You have to catch them in the dead of night.

Bette: Oh, you should have seen how the most beautiful woman that ever lived treated me back in the day. And I remember thinking then, "Beauty fades. Just wait." And it did.

Bette: I wish I had known for a single day what it feels like to walk into a room and knock them out without a single word.
Bob: Bette, you don't even know yourself. You've been too long in this business.
Bette: Oh, you have no idea what it's like to be a woman in this business, with the constant scrutiny and competition.
Bob: Ah, do we have to go through this melodrama right now?
Bette: Fuck you, Bob.
Bob: All right, tell me. Then tell me.
Bette: No. You tell me, Mr. Director Man. Have you ever been rebuffed by a woman because of how you look? I'm betting no. I'm guessing that your success was enough, that they fucked you despite your beer gut and your middle-age sag. Am I right?
Bob: I don't make up the rules.
Bette: My first screen test with Jack Warner, I stuck around and I hid behind a door because I wanted to hear his reaction. Did he see my talent, my humor, my intelligence, my brave attack on the scene? But he wasn't interested in any of that. Guess what he said. He said I had zero sex appeal. He said, "Who would want to fuck that?" I was 22. And nobody ever had. Guess who he said he wished I looked like? Joan Crawford.

Joan: You've always been overrated.
Bette: I guess that explains my eleven Oscar nominations.
Joan: The Academy doesn't reward you for your talent, for Christ's sakes, Bette. They reward you because they see how hard you sweat. They don't see the character, they see the acting.
Bette: And they don't see you at all because of all your glamour makeup.
Joan: Well, let me give you a tip. The answer to feeling unattractive isn't to make yourself even uglier.

Bette: How did it feel to be the most beautiful girl in the world?
Joan: It was wonderful. The most joyous thing you could ever imagine. And it was never enough. Well, what about you? How did it feel to be the most talented girl in the world?
Bette: Great. And it was never enough.

Bette: This is [B.D.'s] elderly playmate, Jerome.

Bette: You're not marrying a 40-year-old man. 
Jeremy: I'm 29, actually. 
Bette: You're twice her age.

B.D.: We're in love, Mother. And we're getting married, whether it's now or two years from now when we won't need your permission.
Bette: You don't want my permission, you want my attention. Now you have it, and the answer is no.
B.D.: Fine! Force your daughter into a life of sin if that's what you want. 
Bette: It is what I want. In fact, march yourself up those stairs to my bedroom and grab my copy of The Feminine Mystique, and read it before you ruin your life.

Ray: There's now been 29 days since Miss Crawford completed a full day's work on Charlotte, resulting in expensive delays and cost overruns for this studio. Our insurer, to this point, has covered those losses on the basis of Miss Crawford's diagnosis of a rare form of pneumonia. But her health does not seem to be improving.
Bette: That's because her condition is mental.

Bette: Are you having second thoughts about marrying Jeremy?
B.D.: What? No. I just don't see why we have to make such a big production out of the wedding.
Bette: Well, I'll tell you why. A wedding is a big, special party because everything after that is hard work and repetition. It's work to keep a house. It's work to fix him the same goddamn glass of scotch every night and feign interest while he rants about his boss. It's work to tolerate his forgetting to ask you about your day, and your feelings, and your thoughts. And it's work to feel like a staging ground for someone else's ambitions.
B.D.: You just described my life with you.
Bette: Well, then I've prepared you to be a good wife. And I'm gonna miss you terribly when you're gone. This wedding is something I can give you. And if you want it, I want it to be perfect. Your first wedding is the one that you remember the most.
B.D.: My first wedding? Jeremy and I are forever.
Bette: Of course, darling, of course. And however long that forever lasts, I want you know that you will always have a place to come home to.

Pauline: He says you can come back to work, Joan. Said he'll clear you for a marathon, if you want.
Joan: He's the studio's doctor. What did you expect him to say?
Pauline: He also said you tried to seduce him.
Joan: That is ridiculous and offensive.

Pauline: I came out here to work. That seems to be the last thing that anyone cares about. I don't know if this town attracts narcissists or actually creates them. But I have no intention of sticking around to find out.

Joan B: At a certain point, a woman becomes invisible. You get fat or old people don't even see you anymore. Oh, come on, think of it this way: you've been eating in a restaurant your whole life. You're a great customer. Good tipper. Staff loves you. You spend all your money there. And then one day, they won't serve you. Won't take your money. Won't even let you see the menu. Well, who could blame you for wanting to stand up and rip the tablecloth off?

Joan: Fuck them both.
Cukor: You were always ambitious. But when did you become so vindictive?
Joan: I've always been valued for my beauty. And more times than not, nothing else. But now the only bed I can find any power in is this hospital bed.
Cukor: Well, why don't you free yourself from all this? Tell 'em you're too ill to continue. Let them recast the role.
Joan: Oh, they've already tried. I know that. They've gone out to Loretta Young, to Stanwyck. Both dear friends of mine. No, there isn't an actress in town who would take food out of my mouth.
Cukor: That's because most of them don't eat.

Bette: Tell Zanuck no. Absolutely not! I am not going to do this slice of Americana with the very British Miss Vivien Leigh. Who would believe her as a Southern belle?
Bob: She played Scarlett O'Hara.
Bette: Unconvincingly.

Olivia: Darlings, I'm so flattered you thought about me. But it's impossible. I've only just aired out my Swiss chalet for the season. And, besides, I've done my turn at Grand Guignol already. The whole experience just left me feeling humiliated, and I'd rather not repeat it.
Bob: Oh, no, Olivia. This is completely different. This time you're not the victim. You'd be the villainess.
Olivia: Oh, no. I don't do bitches. They make me so unhappy. You should call my sister.

Joan: Mamacita, wait! Please. You can't leave me now! Not after what they've done to me.
Mamacita: You have done this to yourself.

Adam: And do you feel guilty at all about ending Joan Crawford's career?
Olivia: Time did that all on its own. As it does to us all.

[ElectricBoogaloo]

Joan: I'll do the surgery if I have to, but no dentures. I'd rather spit blood into a sink than look like Martha Raye.
Doctor: Miss Crawford, at your age, you need to worry more about staying healthy than staying photogenic.
Joan: I'll stop worrying about how I look when they dip me in formaldehyde.

Stan: If the book is a hit, potentially, it's a huge branding opportunity. Joan Crawford luggage, Joan Crawford dinnerware, Joan Crawford plastic furniture covers

Joan: People ask me if I turn up at board meetings wearing tailored costumes and muted colors. Oh, no. I wear shocking pink and lovely hats. No man ever did a poor job because he had an attractive woman to look at.

Joan: There are no hard and fast rules for fending off an outright pass, especially if it comes from the boss. Every intelligent woman has her own method of turning it down without wounding a sensitive male ego. An even cleverer woman knows how to prevent the pass in the first place. If you can't control your cleavage, your perfume, your walk and your eyelashes, you'd better stay out of the business.

Joan: Here are a few items no dieter should ever have in the house: peas, lima beans, avocados, olives, dried beans, corn, butter, most cheese. Creamed chicken with mash potatoes makes too much mush. Always serve something crisp with something soft.

Joan: I feel as if clothes are people. When I buy a dress, that's a new friend.

Pauline: You know, in Japan, when you turn 60, you put on this bright red hat, and you celebrate kanreki. It's your second childhood. Life isn't over. It's just beginning.

Victor: Failure made [Bette] desperate. She was sure that every job she got would be her last. She snatched up every offer that came her way, and she lost that special something that I considered her signature.
Adam: What was that?
Bette: Her high standards.

Bette: What idiots are these businessmen that they pay for a pilot and then they don't bother to put it on the air.
Victor: They must make measure of whether the shows will be losers over time.
Bette: Plenty of losers get bought. Why not mine?
Victor: Is that really what you want, my dear? To spend your years in Burbank, playing a hypochondriac judge?

B.D.: My children aren't staying with you ever again, Mother. Ashley told us you beat on his baby brother last night.
Bette: Well, I did no such thing. Why would he say that? You didn't beat Justin for crying when Jeremy and I left for the hotel? Oh, I swatted him. He was throwing a temper tantrum, he was out of control. - You traumatized him. - B. D. , I swatted you a thousand times did I traumatize you? From now on, if you want to visit with your grandchildren, you may do so at our farm, under supervision. After you do something about your drinking problem. Since when do you since when do you think I'm a drunk? You're sitting right there with a margarita at 11:00 am.

Doctor: Can I persuade you to lay off the smoking? 
Bette: Look, I'm off booze. I can't give up cigarettes. They're my only friends.
Doctor: How long ago did you stop drinking? 
Bette: Seventeen days.

Bette: Here, Anthony, I want to read you this. A passage. "And Moses sayeth to his brethren, "'The Lord shall afflict you with lesions all over your body if you be not punctual 'in your laborings, even if you are very pretty and the star of Chinatown." 
Anthony: Is that from Romans?

Victor: She has cancer, you know. Hasn't left her apartment in months, I hear.
Bette: Cancer isn't going to kill Joan. She's a cockroach, just like me.

Cathy: Mommie. I'm worried about you. Mamacita says you've stopped seeing your doctor.
Joan: Yes, dear, that's right.
Cathy: Do you think that's wise?
Joan: Well, western medicine thinks it can poison this cancer out of me, but since I've adopted the tenets of Christian Science, I have been feeling a wonderful new vigor, I really have.