A world-weary political journalist picks up the story of a woman's search for her son, who was taken away from her decades ago after she became pregnant and was forced to live in a convent.

Sister Hildegarde: The Lord Jesus Christ will be my judge - not the likes of you.
Martin Sixsmith: Really? Because I think if Jesus was here right now he'd tip you out of that fucking wheelchair - and you wouldn't get up and walk.
Philomena: And after I had the sex, I thought anything that feels so lovely must be wrong.
Martin Sixsmith: Fucking Catholics.
Philomena: But I don't wanna hate people. I don't wanna be like you. Look at you.
Martin Sixsmith: I'm angry.
Philomena: Must be exhausting.
Philomena: I forgive you because I don't want to remain angry.
Martin Sixsmith: The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
Philomena: That's lovely, Martin. Did you just think of that?
Martin Sixsmith: No, it's T.S. Eliot
Mary: And that's him with Pete Olsen. Mike and Pete were...
[embarassed]
Philomena: That's alright, Mary. I know Anthony was a gay homosexual. And we've met Marcia, who I believe was his beard. Is that right, Martin?
Martin Sixsmith: Yes, that's, that's about right.
Martin Sixsmith: The Catholic Church should go to confession, not you!
Martin Sixsmith: Well... I couldn't forgive you.
Philomena: I've always wanted to see him in his big chair.
Martin Sixsmith: Well, he was uh... a big man. Literally. 6 foot 4, tallest American president.
Philomena: You can see that. He's tall even sitting down.
Philomena: But what if he died in Vietnam? Or, or came back with no legs? Or lived on the street?
Martin Sixsmith: Don't upset yourself. We don't know what we don't know.
Martin Sixsmith: Its funny isn't it? All the pieces of paper designed to help you find him have been destroyed, but guess what, the one piece of paper designed to stop you finding him has been lovingly preserved. God and his infinite wisdom decided to spare that from the flames.
Sister Claire: Hello.
Martin Sixsmith: Oh hello.
Sister Claire: I'm Sister Claire.
Martin Sixsmith: Yes, hello... I was just admiring your picture of Jayne Mansfield.
Sister Claire: No, that's Jane Russell. Jayne Mansfield was the blonde one.
Martin Sixsmith: Yes, of course. They were both very big... I mean, the two of them... huge... their careers.
Martin Sixsmith: I was with the BBC but not anymore.
Martin Sixsmith: [about Philomena] She told four people today that they're one in a million. What are the chances of that?
Philomena: Oh... that's for good luck.
Martin Sixsmith: I always thought that St. Christopher was a bit of a Mickey Mouse saint. I used to be an altar boy.
Philomena: He doesn't want to see me, isn't it?
Martin Sixsmith: Some people have problem to deal with the past... not you, though. But I'm sure he'll come around.
Martin Sixsmith: I don't believe in God, and I think He knows.
Mary: Stop torturing her!
Martin Sixsmith: What you're talking about is what they call a human interest story; I don't do those.
Jane: Why not?
Martin Sixsmith: Because "human interest story" is a euphemism for stories about weak-minded, vulnerable, ignorant people, to fill in newspapers read by vulnerable, weak-minded, ignorant people. Not that you are.
Martin Sixsmith: [frustrated] I asked a question.
Sister Claire: You're a journalist.
Martin Sixsmith: Yes. Well, I used to be.
Philomena: He's a Roman Catholic.
Martin Sixsmith: Yes. Well, I used to be.
Sister Hildegarde: Let me tell you something. I have kept my vow of chastity my whole life. Self-denial and mortification of the flesh; that's what brings us closer to God. Those girls have nobody to blame but themselves and their own carnal incompetence!
Martin Sixsmith: You mean they had sex.
Sister Hildegarde: What's done is done. What do you expect us to do about it now?
Philomena: Nothing. There's nothing to be done or said. I found my son, that's what I came here for.
[reprimanding]
Philomena: Martin.
Martin Sixsmith: Hang on, hang on, I'll tell you what you can do. Say sorry, how about that? Apologize. Stop trying to cover things up. Get out there and clear all the weeds and crap off the graves of the mothers and the babies that died in childbirth!
Sister Hildegarde: Their suffering was atonement for their sin.
Martin Sixsmith: One of the mothers was fourteen years old!
Philomena: Martin, that's enough.
Sister Hildegarde: The Lord Jesus Christ will be my judge, not the likes of you.
Martin Sixsmith: Really? Because I think if Jesus was here now, he'd tip you out of that fucking wheelchair - and you wouldn't get up and walk.
[repeated line]
Philomena: Well I didn't see that coming, Martin, not in a million years!
Philomena: [repeated] He would've never had this if he'd stayed with me.
Philomena: Sister Hildegarde, I want you to know that I forgive you.
Martin Sixsmith: What? Just like that?
Philomena: Its not 'just like that'... it's hard. That's hard for me. But I don't want to hate people. I don't want to be like you... Look at you.
Martin Sixsmith: I'm angry.
Philomena: Must be exhausting...

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