This is a crisis. A large crisis. In fact, if you got a moment, it's a twelve-storey crisis with a magnificent entrance hall, carpetting throughout, 24-hour portage, and an enormous sign on the roof, saying 'This Is a Large Crisis'. A large crisis requires a large plan. Get me two pencils and a pair of underpants.

Baldrick: No, the thing is: The way I see it, these days there's a war on, right? and, ages ago, there wasn't a war on, right? So, there must have been a moment when there not being a war on went away, right? and there being a war on came along. So, what I want to know is: How did we get from the one case of affairs to the other case of affairs?
Edmund: Do you mean "How did the war start?"
Baldrick: Yeah.
George: The war started because of the vile Hun and his villainous empire-building.
Edmund: George, the British Empire at present covers a quarter of the globe, while the German Empire consists of a small sausage factory in Tanganiki. I hardly think that we can be entirely absolved of blame on the imperialistic front.
George: Oh, no, sir, absolutely not. (aside, to Baldrick) Mad as a bicycle!
Baldrick: I heard that it started when a bloke called Archie Duke shot an ostrich 'cause he was hungry.
Edmund: I think you mean it started when the Archduke of Austro-Hungary got shot.
Baldrick: Nah, there was definitely an ostrich involved, sir.

Oh, no, thank you, sir -- I wouldn't miss this show for anything. I am as excited as a very excited person who's got a special reason to be excited, sir.

George: You know, I won't half miss you chaps after the war. Baldrick: Don't worry, Lieutenant -- I'll come visit you. George: Will you really? Oh bravo! Yes, jump into the old jalopy and come down and stay in the country, and we can relive the old times.
Edmund: What, dig a hole in the garden, fill it with water, and get your gamekeeper to shoot at us all day?
George: You know, that's the thing I don't really understand about you, Cap. You're a professional soldier, and yet, sometimes you sound as though you bally well haven't enjoyed soldiering at all.
Edmund: Well, you see, George, I did like it, back in the old days when the prerequisite of a British campaign was that the enemy should under no circumstances carry guns -- even spears made us think twice. he kind of people we liked to fight were two feet tall and armed with dry grass.

You know, over these last few years, I've come to think of you as a sort of son. Not a favourite son, of course -- lord, no! -- more a sort of illegitimate backstairs sort of sprog, you know: a sort of spotty squib that nobody really likes. But, nonetheless, still fruit of my overactive loin.

I think the phrase rhymes with 'clucking bell'.

George: No, really -- this is brave, splendid and noble! Sir?
Edmund: Yes, Lieutenant?
George: I'm scared, sir.
Baldrick: I'm scared too, sir.
George: I mean, I'm the last of the tiddlywinking leapfroggers from the Golden Summer of 1914. I don't want to die. I'm really not overkeen on dying at all, sir.
Edmund: How are you feeling, Darling?
Darling: Erm, not all that goo, Blackadder -- rather hoped I'd get through the whole show; go back to work at Pratt & Sons; keep wicket for the Croydon gentlemen; marry Doris... Made a note in my diary on my way here. Simply says, "Bugger."