Stella:
But there are things that happen between a man and a woman in the
dark--that sort of make everything else seem--unimportant.
[Pause.]
Blanche: What you are talking about is
brutal desire--just--Desire!--the name of that rattle-trap street-car
that bangs through the Quarter, up one old narrow street and down
another...
Stella: Haven't you ever ridden on that
street-car?
Blanche: It brought me here.--Where I'm not
wanted and where I'm ashamed to be...
A plague has stricken the moths, the moths are dying,
thier bodies are flakes of bronze on the carpet lying.
Enemies of the delicate everywhere
have breathed a pestilent mist into the air.
STANLEY: Your looks are okay.
STELLA: I was fishing for a compliment, Stanley.
STANLEY: I don't go in for that stuff.
STELLA: What--stuff?
STANLEY: Compliments to women about their looks. I never met a woman that didn't know if she was good-looking or not without being told, and some of them give themselves credit for more than they've got. I once went out with a doll who said to me, "I am the glamorous type, I am the glamorous type!" I said, "So what?"
