Margo Channing: Bill's welcome home birthday party might go down in history. Even before the party started, I could smell disaster in the air. I knew it, I sensed it, even as I finished dressing for the blasted party.

Margo Channing: Don't get up. And please stop acting as if I were the queen mother.

Margo Channing: Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night!

Margo Channing: Funny business, a woman's career - the things you drop on your way up the ladder so you can move faster. You forget you'll need them again when you get back to being a woman. That's one career all females have in common, whether we like it or not: being a woman. Sooner or later, we've got to work at it, no matter how many other careers we've had or wanted. And in the last analysis, nothing's any good unless you can look up just before dinner or turn around in bed, and there he is. Without that, you're not a woman. You're something with a French provincial office or a book full of clippings, but you're not a woman. Slow curtain, the end.

Margo Channing: Heartburn? It's that Miss Caswell. I don't see why she hasn't given Addison heartburn.
Bill Sampson: No heart to burn!

Margo Channing: I detest cheap sentiment.

Margo Channing: I'll admit I may have seen better days, but I'm still not to be had for the price of a cocktail like a salted peanut.

Margo Channing: I'll admit I may have seen better days, but I'm still not to be had for the price of a cocktail, like a salted peanut.

Margo Channing: Lloyd, honey, be a playwright with guts. Write me one about a nice normal woman who just shoots her husband.

Margo Channing: Nice speech, Eve. But I wouldn't worry too much about your heart. You can always put that award where your heart ought to be.