I had the grand idea tonight that I wanted to be the Dowager of our little family… upon further investigation I found that I am disqualified on so many fronts. What a pity!
The Dowager Speaks:
“One can't go to pieces at the death of every foreigner. We'd all be in a constant state of collapse whenever we opened a newspaper.”
“Nothing succeeds like excess”.
“What is a weekend?”
“It's the job of grandmothers to interfere!”
[after all Robert's evening-dress shirts have gone missing, he is forced to come down to dinner in a black tie and white shirt, much to the horror of the ladies]
Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham: [glancing at Robert, while flustered] Do you think I might have a drink?
Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham: [looking more closely at Robert] Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought you were a waiter.