POLLY: You’re condemning us all to die. Have you no heart?

CYBERMAN: No. That is one of the weaknesses that we have removed.

DOCTOR: My dear Mister Chinn, if I could leave, I would, if only to get away from people like you.

BRIGADIER: Doctor—

DOCTOR: And your petty obsessions! England for the English? Good heavens, man!

CHINN: I have a duty to my country!

DOCTOR: Not to the world?

GWENDOLINE: Sir, I think Mr. Matthews is confused.

DOCTOR: Never mind. I'll have him completely bewildered by the time I'm finished.

ACE: Don't you have things you hate?

DOCTOR: I can't stand burnt toast. I loathe bus stations. Terrible places. Full of lost luggage and lost souls.

ACE: I told you I never wanted to come back here again.

DOCTOR: And then, there's unrequited love, and tyranny, and cruelty.

ACE: Too right.

DOCTOR: We all have a universe of our own terrors to face.

ACE: I face mine on my own terms.

ACE: When I lived in Perivale—me and my best mate—we dossed around together. We'd out-dare each other on things. Skiving off. Stupid things. Then they burnt out Manesha’s flat. White kids firebombed it. I didn't care anymore.

DOCTOR: I think you cared a lot, Ace.

ACE: You’re no gentleman. Scratch the Victorian veneer, and something nasty’ll come crawling out.

LIGHT: Earth. Why mention that wretched planet to me?

ACE: If you don’t like it, then bog off!

LIGHT: I once spent centuries faithfully cataloguing all the species there. Every organism from the smallest bacteria to the largest ichthyosaur. But no sooner had I finished than it all started changing.

DOCTOR: That’s life.

DOCTOR: Who was it said Earthmen never invite their ancestors round for dinner?

’Are you sure,’ asked his companion, ‘that this is the nineteen-eighties?’

The Doctor looked around. ‘Which nineteen-eighties did you have in mind?’

The air was musty, as if something malevolent had crawled in there a million years ago and given birth to shadows and silence and dust.

And then, perhaps for the first time in centuries, a faint echo ran through the corridor; a sound like distant drums, or perhaps a thunderstorm far away across a black sea. The air in the corridor swung apart like a grimy curtain to reveal a large blue box with a flashing light on top. Momentarily the thunder crashed overhead, as if something infinitely heavy had come to rest.

DOCTOR: Sometimes I think that I am a Doctor of no brain at all.

The Doctor led us up, into the fire that was not the fire of salvation but the sort that burns, with smoke and hurt and tortured bodies and death. He walked arm in arm with Turing, and they talked, probably about miracles and the mysteries of the universe, but I couldn’t hear them any more. And anyway, it was probably all in code.

DOCTOR: Let’s travel in style! Let’s raise a glass as we steam down the canal! And before the world ends, it turns completely upside down.

DOCTOR: Can’t you people see? Won’t you ever learn? There’s no such thing as prophecy or fate! There are true events, things that happen, and things that have to happen, and none of us can escape those. None of us can, and that’s bad enough. I know that. But we don’t have to invent myths to make it all worse! We don’t have to create terrible destinies, we come to them sure enough!

CHARLEY: It was all about love in the end, wasn’t it?

ELEANOR LAVISH: I’ll get some peace! I’ll find myself some opulent ballroom, and watch the chandeliers grow extravagant beards of lichen and weed, and the monstrous fish take up residence in the sepulchre boudoirs of ancient princesses.

ELEANOR LAVISH: There is a balance to magic.

DOCTOR: And the bells ring out for the death of Venice!

Anji closed her eyes for a moment. He was a fake. He looked and sounded like a man, a human male with white skin, a long, strong-jawed face and large, pale eyes. But if you touched his skin, if you held his wrist, he was the wrong temperature, he had the wrong pulse. He didn’t even have a name. She called the alien ‘Doctor’ because she didn’t know what else to call it.

KARL: I think God's favourite colour must be orange.

Anji walked alone through the city of tigers. It was a fast walk, a bad walk, shouldering and dodging crowd. Sunlight splashing off concrete and glass, bright faces and clothes.

And on every corner, from every doorway, in every window, the music. Coming down from bedrooms, spilling out of cars and cafés, thumping and shrilling, twinkling and twanging. Opera and bossa nova, zydeco and disco, one tune crashing into another as Anji pushed and pulled her way down the street.

ELIZA: We don’t have to go back to our own times, though. We could go back to the age of the dinosaurs or something.

JUSTINE: Why would we want to do that?

ELIZA: I don’t know. It’d just be interesting. You know. We could start our own Faction Paradox mission there. In the middle of the Jurassic or wherever.

JUSTINE: A mission?

ELIZA: Yeah, why not?

JUSTINE: For prehistoric reptiles?

ELIZA: We’re agents of Paradox, for gods’ sake. For all we know we could be the ones who go back in time and start the human race. We could be the original Adam and Eve! Eve and Eve! Whatever!

JUSTINE: If that were true I think we’d have been informed.

ELIZA: I’d just quite like to ride on a dinosaur.

DOCTOR: Well! Tell me about your world, Klein. I mean, tell me about 1965.

KLEIN: You must have seen it for yourself.

DOCTOR: I’ve seen people learning how to be free, learning new experiences, new forms of self-expression, banding together to combat inequality and injustice! I can’t imagine that your world is very similar.

KLEIN: Are you trying to imply that my time shouldn’t come to exist? That Germany should never have won this war? You are wrong.

DOCTOR: Am I?

KLEIN: You want to change history!

DOCTOR: Not change it! Put it back on the right track!

KLEIN: According to whom?

DOCTOR: According to what I’ve seen.

KLEIN: And what about the world I’ve seen? The world of the future, Doctor. An efficient, peaceful, prosperous world. A golden age.

DOCTOR: BUILT ON HOW MANY CORPSES? Oh, I’m sure your trains run on time, Klein. But was it worth the bloodshed? Was it worth the slaughter of millions?

KLEIN: Yes.

DOCTOR: NO! It’s never worth it, Klein. There is no excuse for genocide!

DOCTOR: Can’t take the pace, eh? That’s teach you to impersonate someone less awe-inspiring next time.

BANTO: Awe inspiring? In that coat? Have you looked in the mirror recently? Come to think of it, I shouldn’t think you do much else!

DOCTOR: I intend to rise above your barbs. But before I do, I’d like to say this coat can only be appreciated by someone with a sharpened aesthetic sense! Not a dunderhead like you!

BANTO: Sharpened aesthetic sense? Sharpened by what? A dose of mind-altering drugs?!

DOCTOR: I warn you! A verbal duel with me, as you should remember, if you used the smallest fraction of your cerebral cortex, can only end in ignominy for you!

BANTO: Igno-what? Talking to you is like arguing with a thesaurus!