Will: Um, I guess I shouldn't have busted your groove at the club, man. And I guess what I want to say is it's all Jazz's fault, man.
Geoffrey: Sit down, lad. Master William... for you, a birthday is a time to paint the town red but for me, it's a time of reflection. A time to review one's successes and regrets. I must say, one of my regrets has always been the fact that I never had a son. I have so much advice to pass on to the next generation. But no one to tell it to.
Will: Ooh, look at the time. Boy, I'm bushed. [yawns]
Geoffrey: Sit, William. My boy, a man is much more than the job he holds or the clothes he wears. For example, if I were to judge you by your costume I should guess you were some kind of circus performer.
Will: That's pretty cold, G.
Geoffrey: But you made the same assumptions about me. You assumed I was lonely. You assumed I wouldn't know how to comport myself at a nightspot. You assumed I was a poor dancer. I hope the events of tonight have proved to you that I am, as the saying goes... a fairly fly individual.

Geoffrey: You know, sir, whenever I'm feeling blue, I think of the poem my dear mum used to recite to me as a lad. The master lives a life of ease While we live life upon our knees Waste not your tears And save your breath For soon he'll die a violent death. Works for me.

Hilary: Oh, good, Geoffrey, you're here.
Geoffrey: No.
Hilary: When did I ever ask you for anything?
Geoffrey: You never stopped asking from the moment I started here.
Hilary: That's not true.
Geoffrey: In fact, as I remember I spent my first seven hours of service here installing wall-to-wall carpet for Barbie's Dream House. Carpet which had to be promptly removed.
Hilary: [scoffs] Well, it's not my fault that when Ken got home, he didn't like it.
Geoffrey: And it wasn't my fault the dollhouse burnt to the ground.
Hilary: Geoffrey, Skipper died in that fire. I don't even wanna think about it. Look, I need you to hem this dress.

Will: Hey, look who's here. Benson.
Geoffrey: This is for you.
Will: But I didn't get you anything.
Geoffrey: Your uncle has invited several of the partners from his law firm to dinner. At the time of the invitation, he did not realize you'd be descending upon him today. And regrettably, it was too late to cancel.
Will: Yo, are we having a party? So we're gonna get stupid, right?
Geoffrey: For some of us, that will require very little effort indeed.

Will: Hey, Geoffrey, home butler. I am glad to see you, man.
Geoffrey: It is a special thrill for me as well.
Will: Yo, check this out. I'm gonna be down here for a while. Why don't you hop on in the kitchen and get me some cocoa?
Geoffrey: Master William, while it is my natural inclination to accede to your every demand, I officially go off duty at 9:00 p.m. And if you care to look at your watch, you will note that the long hand is on 12, and the short hand is on 9. It is 9:00, Master William. And do you know what that means? Masterpiece Theatre is on.

Geoffrey: You know, sir, the Earl of Cranbrook to whom I was in service for several years suffered from the most severe headaches.
Philip: And you're saying these were caused by some sort of stress?
Geoffrey: I should very much doubt it. He spent his days riding to the hounds, and his evenings attending rather pleasant dinner parties with his delightful wife, Lady Celia. Now, she was a terribly good snooker player, one of the best. One night, she bet-
Philip: Geoffrey. Where does the stress come in?
Geoffrey: Well, it certainly doesn't in Lord Cranbrook's case. I never saw a calmer household.
Philip: Then what was the point of the story?
Geoffrey: Sheer entertainment, sir.

Geoffrey: Allow me, sir.
Philip: Certainly, Geoffrey, if you think you can do any better.
Geoffrey: Mademoiselle. [kneels down] My life was but a mere whisper until you entered into it. Whether it was chance or blind fate or kismet, if you will, that brought us together, I would be remiss to let this moment pass without telling you how deeply you have affected the very core of my being.
Will: Ooh, baby!

Geoffrey: Oh, dear.
Vivian: Good, Geoffrey. You got the paper.
Geoffrey: Yes, madam.
Vivian: Make sure you buy the 100 copies that Mr. Banks wanted.
Geoffrey: Before we make such an investment, perhaps it might be wise for you to peruse the contents of this article.
Vivian: Oh, dear. Geoffrey, how on earth did they get a hold of all these stories?
Geoffrey: Madam, the press is made up of a very low type of person. You see what they've done to Fergie.

Will: Yo, G! Chill, man! Whatever you do, don't open that door.
Vivian: Please, Lord, tell me it isn't the police.
Will: No. It's my boy, Jazz.
Philip: Much worse.
Will: Hey, G. $10 says I ain't home.
Geoffrey: It doesn't quite say it loudly enough. Do I hear $15.
Will: G, you gonna do a brother like that? Man, it's my life's at stake.
Geoffrey: I took that into consideration.

Geoffrey: Milord, I'm afraid I have some bad news. My cousin Roddy has just been suddenly struck with malaria. I must go to quarantine immediately.