“No...No...We don't walk away but when we're holding on to something precious we run. We run away. We run as fast as we can.”

“Now... Just run.' [said the Doctor.]One of the things you learn very quickly around the Doctor is never to question him when he says that word. You just run. It's almost like breathing.”

“So... Boris. Are you evil?' [said the Doctor].'Not at all, my dear sir,' chuckled Boris.'You just chuckled,' groaned the Doctor. 'Chuckling's a dead givaway in my books. Along with putting your hands on your hips and snogging another man's wife.”

“How are you, Rory?' [the Doctor] asked.I [Rory]... answered him. 'It's been odd being you.''Isn't it?' The Doctor's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.'How do you cope?''Ah...' The Doctor picked away at a scrap of loose paint on the door. 'Well, I just get as close as I can to a happy ending, then I shut the door behind me and move on.'I nodded.We shut the door behind us and moved on.”

“At the moment, it's simply a difference of opinon between the Doctor and you.. You both want the best. You've only tried to kill him a couple of times... I mean, don't worry about that. I've seen people do much worse to him and at the end of the day he'll take them out for pizza. He's very forgiving. The Doctor is brilliant,' [said Rory]”

“Leela: Why are we listening to them? It is a waste of time.The Doctor; It is difficult to know what will be a waste of time until after the time has been wasted, by which time it is too late. So predicting what will be a waste of time is something of a waste of time. Unless it gives you pleasure of course when it probably doesn't count as a waste of time.Leela (yawning): I am sorry I did not hear what you said, Doctor.The Doctor (smiling): That was a waste of time then.”

“LEELA: 'To be, or not to be, that is the question.' That is a very stupid question!THE DOCTOR: It's Shakespeare.LEELA: And that is a very stupid name. You do not shake a spear, you throw it! Throwspeare, now that is a name.”

“No matter who you were in sixteenth-century Europe, you could be sure of two things: you would be lucky to reach fifty years of age, and you could expect a life of discomfort and pain. Old age tires the body by thirty-five, Erasmus lamented, but half the population did not live beyond the age of twenty. There were doctors and there was medicine, but there does not seem to have been a great deal of healing. Anyone who could afford to seek a doctor's aid did so eagerly, but the doctor was as likely to maim or kill as to cure. His potions were usually noxious and sometimes fatal—but they could not have been as terrible and traumatic as the contemporary surgical methods. The surgeon and the Inquisitor differed only in their motivation: otherwise, their batteries of knives, saws, and tongs for slicing, piercing, burning, and amputating were barely distinguishable. Without any anesthetic other than strong liquor, an operation was as bad as the torments of hell.”

“Don't interfere!" The Doctor silenced her angrily. "I cannot will my own destruction.”

“William Shakespeare: 'Close up this din of hateful decay, decomposition of your witches' plot! You thieve my brains, consider me your toy, my doting doctor tells me I am not!' Lilith: No! Words of power! William Shakespeare: 'Foul Carrionite specters, cease your show, between the points... ' [he looks to The Doctor for help] The Doctor: 761390! William Shakespeare: '761390! Banished like a tinker's cuss, I say to thee... ' [he again looks to The Doctor] The Doctor: Uh... [he looks to Martha] Martha Jones: Expelliarmus! The Doctor: Expelliarmus! William Shakespeare: 'Expelliarmus!' The Doctor: Good old JK!”

“We're all stories in the end.”