Doralee: So, you’ve been tellin’ everybody I’ve been sleepin’ with ya, huh? Well that explains it! That’s why these people treat me like some dime-store floozy. They think I’m screwin’ the boss! Ohh, and you just love it, don’t you? It gives you some sort of cheap thrill like knockin’ over pencils and pickin’ up papers! Get your scummy hands offa me! Look I’ve been straight with you since the first day I got here, and I’ve put up with all of your pinchin’ and starin’ and chasin’ me around the desk because I need this job. But this is the last straw! Look, I’ve got a gun out there in my purse. Up until now I’ve been forgivin’ and forgettin’ because of the way I was brought up, but I’ll tell you one thing. If you ever say another word about me or make another indecent proposal, I’m gonna get that gun of mine, and I’m gonna change you from a rooster to a hen with one shot! And don’t think I can’t do it.
Maude: I should like to change into a sunflower most of all. They’re so tall and simple. What flower would you like to be?
Harold: I don’t know. One of these, maybe.
Maude: Why do you say that?
Harold: Because they’re all alike.
Maude: Oooh, but they’re *not*. Look. See, some are smaller, some are fatter, some grow to the left, some to the right, some even have lost some petals. All *kinds* of observable differences. You see, Harold, I feel that much of the world’s sorrow comes from people who are *this*
[points to a daisy], yet allow themselves be treated as *that* [gestures to a field of daisies].