Downton Abbey 6×8

Mr. Carson: And what makes you think you'll be any good?
Joseph Molesley: I don't know exactly. Perhaps because I want it so much.
Mr. Carson: There are plenty of little boys who want to be famous cricketers. It's not enough to make them champions.
Joseph Molesley: I just want to try, Mr Carson.
Mrs. Hughes: And so you shall.

Lady Mary Crawley: But that's absurd! If Bertie's a marquess, then Edith--
Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham: Edith would outrank us all. Yes. That's right.

Tom Branson: We'll all bow and curtsy to Edith. You'll enjoy that, Mary.
Lady Mary Crawley: Hardly! And if Bertie is Lord Hexham which I still don't believe, he won't want to marry her now.
Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham: Careful. People will think you're jealous, dear. We don't want that.

Mr. Carson: One thing. Don't forget Mr Pelham is now the Marquess of Hexham, when you address him.
John Bates: I helped him unpack and he wishes to remain Mr Pelham until his cousin's funeral, Mr Carson.
Mr. Carson: He can call himself Mr Pelham to his heart's content but he is Lord Hexham nevertheless, Mr Bates, and we will refer to him as His Lordship.

Bertie Pelham: Look, of course things have changed. I was in line for a quiet life, farming, sport, bringing up a family with my wife. But now I'm to be one of the kings of the county -- always on parade, representing the people who look up to me, fighting for causes, trying oh so hard not to be disappointing...

Henry Talbot: If you're trying to get rid of me, I'm going to make this as hard and as horrible as I can!

Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham: How are you getting to Tangiers? Is there a boat that sails direct?
Bertie Pelham: Actually I'm flying. For the first bit, anyway.
Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham: What?
Bertie Pelham: I know. It does seem rather daring.
Lady Rosamund Painswick: I do not envy you.
Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham: I don't know. Now the commercial airlines are starting to operate, I dare say we'll all be flying hither and thither before too long.
Lady Rosamund Painswick: I rather doubt that.

John Bates: So you were wrong about him?
Anna Bates: I think I was. Why are you smiling?
John Bates: Show me a man that doesn't smile when his wife admits she's wrong.

Mr. Carson: Oh, I see. The plan is to mix up His Lordship or, worse, Her Ladyship, with a divorce petition and the scene of an adultery?
Mrs. Patmore: But I want to bury that story and I need a big event to bury it under.
Mr. Carson: You have no qualms about dragging the family we serve into the mud?
Mrs. Hughes: It's their choice, Mr Carson. They're all grown people, surely?
Mr. Carson: Well, I've always known that women were ruthless, but I didn't think I'd find the proof in my own wife!

Mrs. Patmore: It's my mess, why should you pay for it?
Mr. Carson: Indeed.
Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham: Carson? Is this what you believe?
Mr. Carson: It is, Your Ladyship. I wouldn't like to see this family dragged into a tawdry, local brouhaha.
Mrs. Patmore: He means me.
Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham: Oh, I think we have to show a little more backbone than that.
Mr. Carson: My Lord?
Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham: Mrs Patmore has been loyal to this house and this house must be loyal to her.

Mrs. Hughes: They're doing something nice, Mr Carson. Don't spoil it.
Mr. Carson: Yes. Very nice! For the public to read about the cakes and dainties His Lordship is guzzling as he sits at the adulterers' table!
Mrs. Hughes: I'm sure there've been a few adulterers sat at the table upstairs.
Mr. Carson: That is different.
Mrs. Hughes: Why? To say nothing of suicidal footman in the attic!
Mr. Carson: What are we coming to? I only thank God that the Dowager isn't here to witness it.

Tom Branson: Was everything all right when you got home?
Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham: Well no, not really. Spratt has gone away.
Tom Branson: Did you tell him you were coming back?
Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham: A good butler should not need to be told.

Mrs. Hughes: Andrew, carry that out. And very, very good luck.
Mr. Carson: And good luck to us all. In the vain hope that we'll avoid scandalous gossip.
Mrs. Hughes: You're such an old curmudgeon.
Mr. Carson: Don't say you're going off me.
Mrs. Hughes: No, because you're my curmudgeon and that makes all the difference.
Mr. Carson: Hm.

Lady Mary Crawley: [Henry]'s well born, but there's no money or position. He's not even a countryman. Not really. He grew up in London.
Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham: He shoots.
Lady Mary Crawley: Yes, he shoots. Like every social-climbing banker shoots.
Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham: Well, let's leave his credentials to one side for a moment and concentrate on what is important.
Lady Mary Crawley: Which is?
Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham: Tom says that he is in love with you and that you are in love with him.
Lady Mary Crawley: Do you believe him?
Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham: Do you deny it?
Lady Mary Crawley: Oh, for you of all people to talk as if his qualifications don't matter!

Lady Mary Crawley: Oh, can't you find me some Duke? There must be one spare. So I can put Edith in her place.
Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham: You are the only woman I know who likes to think herself cold and selfish and grand. Most of us spend our lives trying to hide it.
Lady Mary Crawley: Oh, Granny please don't lecture me on sentimental virtues.
Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham: Don't worry. Don't worry. I believe in rules and traditions and playing our part. But there is something else.
Lady Mary Crawley: And what is that, pray?
Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham: I believe in love. I mean, brilliant careers, rich lives, are seldom led without... just an element of love.
Lady Mary Crawley: Oh, Granny. You do surprise me.
Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham: Oh, I am glad. So climbing all those stairs wasn't wasted.

Lady Mary Crawley: .... then why are you here?
Lady Edith Crawley: Because, in the end, you're my sister and one day, only we will remember Sybil... or Mama or Papa or Matthew or Michael or Granny or Carson or any of the others who have peopled our youth... until, at last, our shared memories will mean more than our mutual dislike.

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