DOCTOR: I'm here following up on reports that you and Cardinal Richelieu have turned against the one true god. Confess your sins, wretch! Or I shall get vengeful and smite you with lightning bolts!

JULIE: Gargoyles?!

DOCTOR: Worse. Garrulous gargoyles. Try saying that after a couple of pan-galactic gargoyleblasters.

JULIE: My more discreet admirers say I've led a colourful life. My detractors, of whom, I'm proud to say, I have many, accuse me of leading a bawdy, debauched, scandalous existence, most unbecoming of a young lady. To them, I say... guilty as charged.

DOCTOR: You seriously think I'd consider you as a travelling companion?

JULIE: Oh, I wouldn't be your companion, Doctor. You'd be mine. Well, more of a coachman or butler.

JULIE: Where are you taking me?

DOCTOR: To a place of wit and wonder and infinite possibilities. To a phantasmagoria of knowledge and adventure, philosophical debate and scientific discovery. To the greatest place on any world in any galaxy. The library.

JULIE: When I'm an old maid in my bed, I'll take up reading. For now, I'll stick with sword-fighting, singing and carousing.

DOCTOR: Earlier versions of me might disagree, but opera's just not my thing. It's all tubby men and women in dodgy Viking costumes yodelling at each other, if you ask me.

DOCTOR: As an old friend once said, there's something rotten in the state of Denmark.

JULIE: Denmark? We're in France. Though I'm not surprised you can smell over borders with a nose like that. I was scared you were going to stab me with it during our duel.