RUBY: Where are we?

DOCTOR: In the middle of a war.

RUBY: Oh. I was kind of hoping for a beach.

DOCTOR: Ah. What do you think this is?

RUBY: It's not a beach.

DOCTOR: Give it time. Everywhere's a beach eventually.

DOCTOR: I went down to the beach and there she stood, dark and tall at the edge of the wood. "The sky's too big, I'm scared," I cried. She replied, "Young man, don't you know there's more to life than the moon and the President's wife?"

DOCTOR: We're all dead eventually. There's hardly any time that we're not dead. Which is a good thing, too. We've got to keep the pace up, otherwise nothing would get done. Dying defines us. Snow isn't snow until it falls.

RUBY: Snow...?

DOCTOR: Yeah, snow. We all melt away in the end, but something stays. Maybe the best part.

DOCTOR: A sad old man once told me, what survives of us is love.

DOCTOR: Without hope. Without witness. Without reward.