(John Smith has just dismissed Bernice Summerfield’s warnings.)

Benny stopped, and watched Smith march into the school buildings.

When he was out of earshot, she swore eight times.

DOCTOR: Do you want to tell me what you told John in the glade this morning? What you were trying to whisper in his ear for so long?

VERITY: That he believes in good and fights evil. That, with violence all around him, he’s a man of peace. That he’s never cruel, or cowardly. That he is a hero.

‘They must feel safe in your hands.’

‘They aren’t. I don’t keep things safe. I used to. Perhaps. I can’t keep all the plates spinning. I drop some.’

Their hands collided across the soft expanse of Wolsey’s stomach. Smith’s hand swept right over Joan’s and she kept that hand still, accepting, the tips of her fingers gently playing with the smallest swirls of the animal’s fur.

A moment later, Smith’s hand swept back again and she looked at the top of his head as the hand passed over hers, delighting enormously that he didn’t look up and meet her gaze with something terrible and shattering like a smile.

‘Well, that is always the risk, if you’re a plate, isn’t it?’ she whispered, letting her fingers catch his cuff, but keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the fine hairs at the back of his neck. ‘If you want to be spun, then you must accept the possibility of being broken.’

Smith took the apple, buffed it on his sleeve, and grinned at his reflection in it. ‘Why an apple?’

‘I had a dream. I have strange dreams. I had to give it to you. So you’d remember.’

Smith took a bite and munched thoughtfully. ‘An apple a day… saves nine. No, that’s not right. What was it that I was supposed to remember?’

‘A stitch in time? Keeps the doctor away?’ Timothy suggested smiling.

Homunculette found Marie’s body in the main corridor, at the junction between the guest room passage and the ziggurat entrance. He didn’t recognise it as a body, to begin with. The first thing he saw was the hatstand, propped up against the wall between the torches. After that, he saw the tiles, patches of off-white flooring torn out of the TARDIS interior and scattered along the corridor. A sofa clogged up the side-passage to Homuculette’s right; he identified it as the shabby red one from Marie’s secondary console room, but only half of it seemed to be there, the other being embedded in the corridor wall. An upturned bookcase lay beyond the sofa, vomiting out shredded pages covered in scrawls of High Gallifreyan. […] [A] filing cabinet squeezed itself out of Marie’s wound and shunted itself across the corridor. The matter left inside her was forcing its way out, piece by piece. Pus from the wound.

[The Doctor] reached into his jacket pocket. Over the years, people had often commented on his ability to produce exactly the right item from his pockets at exactly the right time. Some had speculated that his pockets were extensions of the TARDIS, others had guessed he was just lucky. But then, they’d never read Yeltstrom’s Karma and Flares: The Importance of Fashion Sense to the Modern Zen Master.

They didn’t appreciate the things a sentient life-form could achieve, if he was totally at one with the lining of his jacket.

The Doctor pulled a sink plunger out of his pocket, thrust it into the mechanism in the wall, and twisted it a little.

The face moved as she watched. The skin broke open before her eyes. Folds unfolded, wrinkles readjusted themselves. Sharp white objects, hard and solid, emerged from the flesh. Smiling. That was all it was doing. Smiling. Oh, God. The face was just a face, a normal face, but everything that made a human being really human had been sucked out of it.

After the Doctor had left, Sam had sniffed around the console room for a bit, for the simple reason that she didn’t often get the chance to fondle the controls without having the backs of her hands slapped.

[…]

Sam reached for the lever which, experience had taught her, activated the scanner. The Doctor slapped the back of her hand, and reached for an entirely different lever that did exactly the same job.

The Doctor looked back at Qixotl. Qixotl was breathing heavily, his eyes popping out of his head. ‘I nearly killed you,’ the Doctor said. ‘I’m terribly sorry. It seemed like such a good idea.’

CHARLEY: I show a smidgen of interest in the plight of the underclass, and what do I get in return? Held at knife-point, dressed up in an admittedly fabulous but impractical frock, and then I end up being forced to marry some ancient madman as the city collapses around us!

BRIGHAM: I'll transfer [his mind] onto a couple of mega-gig quantum CD-ROMs…

(Mickey is piloting a blimp.)

ROSE: Mickey, where’d you learn to fly that thing!?

MICKEY: PlayStation. Just hold on, Rose—

DOCTOR: Revenge is a dish best left to go cold, and then thrown in the kitchen bin.

ROBERT: You’ve given us everything we ever wanted. But at what cost to my soul?

SARA KINGDOM: You’re a rationalist, Robert. You don’t have a soul.

DOCTOR: You have to remember; it's very important: “Frankenstein” is the name of the monster, and not the name of the doctor.

LOKI: As far as I can tell, I am… beyond… restoration. I’m afraid—

(He pauses.)

LOKI: I—

NYSSA: What…?

LOKI: I am… afraid.

That was when the telephone rang. The Doctor picked it up grumpily, knowing exactly who was on the other end.

‘You know, Brigadier, a chap can’t be expected to do any useful work if⁠ —’

‘[…] We’ve found something. I’d rather like you on site before we bring in the big guns.’

‘The big guns, Brigadier? I bet you can barely contain yourself.’

‘There’s a helicopter on standby. I’d like you aboard it, with me, in five minutes.’

‘For pity’s sake, man. Aren’t you going to give me at least some explanation?’

‘Crabs,’ the Brigadier said succinctly.