DOCTOR: You’re right. Could be extremely dangerous. Unconscionably dangerous. So dangerous I haven’t thought of a word for it yet. I’d better go first!

(Inside the TARDIS)

VALARIE: How does she work?

DOCTOR: Big bit fits inside the small bit. It’s like an optical illusion except with dimensions and not an illusion, so nothing like an optical illusion I suppose.

DOCTOR: The mediator between the head and the hands must be the heart. If only.

TENTH DOCTOR: We must stop meeting like this.

FIFTH DOCTOR: (chuckles) No, we really must, I mean, it could literally tear the fabric of reality apart.

TENTH DOCTOR: Yes.

FIFTH DOCTOR: So we shouldn't.

TENTH DOCTOR: No.

FIFTH DOCTOR: Fun, though. At times.

TENTH DOCTOR: Yes. Yes, it was!

DOCTOR: Two hearts. One happy, one sad.

DOCTOR: A bottle? Floating in the middle of deep space. It's a milk bottle. Right. Well, I've clearly got a very determined milkman!

DOCTOR: I'm the Doctor.

MABLI: A doctor of medicine?

DOCTOR: Well, medicine, science, engineering, candyfloss, LEGO, philosophy, music, problems, people, hope. Mostly hope.

DOCTOR: Come on, please. Give us this. It's all right, it's me! Stabilise. Come to Daddy. I mean Mummy.

JOEL: Also I might have invented the sandwich.

DOCTOR: No, you can't have.

JOEL: Why?

DOCTOR: Because I invented the sandwich.

WAR DOCTOR: Oh yes, of course. I suppose it makes sense. Wearing a bit thin. I hope the ears are a bit less conspicuous this time.

CURATOR: Oh, it's entirely up to you. Your choice, eh? I can only tell you what I would do if I were you. Oh, if I were you. Oh, perhaps I was you, of course. Or perhaps you are me. Congratulations.

ELEVENTH DOCTOR: Thank you very much.

CURATOR: Or perhaps it doesn't matter either way. Who knows, eh? Who knows?

MOMENT: You know the sound the TARDIS makes? That wheezing, groaning. That sound brings hope wherever it goes.

WAR DOCTOR: Yes. Yes, I like to think it does.

MOMENT: To anyone who hears it, Doctor. Anyone, however lost... Even you.

WAR DOCTOR: Great men are forged in fire. It is the privilege of lesser men to light the flame, whatever the cost.

ELEVENTH DOCTOR: I never forget a face.

CURATOR: I know you don't. And in years to come, you might find yourself revisiting a few. But just the old favourites, eh?

ACE: But when?

DOCTOR: Are you looking for the butterfly?

ACE: What the one who beats its wings and tips the balance, so the hurricane forms? There isn't one, is there?

DOCTOR: Not often. They just tell the butterflies that to keep them happy.

ACE: I should have known.

DOCTOR: No, mostly they break the butterfly on the wheel of time. But over the decades, the millions of butterflies, the weather still changes somehow. That's time. A million, multi-coloured pieces of time.

DOCTOR: This is ridiculous! How can you go from plenty of time to running out of time in no time at all?

DOCTOR: The King's just died. How very convenient.

TURLOUGH: Not for him.

DOCTOR: Logic, my dear Zoe, merely enables one to be wrong with authority.