You meet a girl. Maybe she’s pretty, maybe she’s smart, maybe she’s funny. Maybe your parents like her. Maybe you get really lucky, and she’s one or two of those things. I got ’em all. That’s a lot.[to Midge]
Life isn’t fair. It’s hard and cruel. You have to pick your friends as if there’s a war going on. You want a husband who’ll take a bullet for you, not one who points to the attic and says “They’re up there.”[to Midge]
Why do women have to pretend to be something that they’re not? Why do we have to pretend to be stupid when we’re not stupid? Why do we have to pretend to be helpless when we’re not helpless? Why do we have to pretend to be sorry when we have nothing to be sorry about? Why do we have to pretend we’re not hungry when we’re hungry?
All that applause for me? What am I, putting out after? One standing ovation, everyone goes home pregnant.
You ever rehearse an argument you plan on having with someone in your head, and during the rehearsal you’re perfectly reasonable and they’re a jerk? And then the argument actually happens and they’re reasonable but that’s not how you rehearsed it, so you become the jerk?