Yolanda sings in a seedy nightclub. When her boyfriend dies of an overdose, she fears the police and seeks refuge in a convent that saves wo...更多>
b>Sor Rata de Callejón: There are as many kinds of kisses as kinds of love; the paternal kiss on the forehead, the kiss on the eyes full of peace, the amusing kiss on the nose, the friendly kiss on the cheek. All of these are somewhat anodyne, but they could be taken as tempting invitations to more perfidious ones, such as the indiscreet kiss on the throat, or the coaxing kiss in the ear which is like being told a secret. And finally there is the kiss on the lips. "A kiss means nothing," say the thoughtless. Perhaps not, if you are cold as ice and your companion, lacking in ardor, lets you escape easily from his embrace. But if that kiss has filled you with delieght, bear in mind that it has moved him even more strongly and awoken all the strength of his desire. Antonia's daughter: Aren't you a nun? Yolanda Bel: No, I'm a whore. Marquise: And anyway, I have no money. You may not have heard here about the economic crisis. Abbess Julia: You're a millionairess! Marquise: To survive, one needs to be. And I don't want just to survive, I want to live life now! Abbess Julia: One of the bases of our community is self-mortification and humiliation. That's why we have such bizarre-sounding names: Sister Manure, Sister Rat, Sister Damned, Sister Snake. Man will not be saved until he realizes he is the most despicable being ever created. Sor Rata de Callejón: Are you going out? Abbess Julia: Yes, I have to pay a visit. Sor Rata de Callejón: Where to? Abbess Julia: I'm going to blackmail the Marquise. Sor Estiércol: [as she is eating a piece of cake] Eating this is like taking communion. Jesus appeared to me while I was making it; He offered me his wounds to suck, like a swallow. Sor Rata de Callejón: That's called a hallucination! Abbess Julia: Very soon, this place will be full of murderesses, drug addicts, prostitues, just like before. Antonia: It's too late to change; your place is here. And where could you go? You're 48 years old. Sor Rata de Callejón: I beg your pardon, but I'm only 47! Antonia: [as her sister brushes away the plant by her face] Move over a bit! The plant keeps hitting you in the mustache!