“I do not like to sound discontented neither,' said Pullings, 'nor to crab any ship I belong to; but between you and me, Doctor, between you and me, she is more what we call a floating coffin than a ship.”

“And between them, the little shoe-box glistening with scarlet wallpaper and gilt like a fairy coffin. Inside it, there was the crabbed corpse of a still-born child wreathed in bloody newspaper.“I hated you so much,” she said softly.”

“as we watched seaward-moving ships pass between the cliffs of burning skyline, she said: 'years from now, years and years, one of those ships will bring me back, me and my nine Brazillian brats, because yes, they must see this, these lights, the river-- I love New York, even though it isn't mine, the way something has to be, a tree or a street or a house, something anyway, that belongs to me because I belong to it.' And I said: 'Do shut up,' for I felt infuriatingly left out-- a tugboat in a dry-dock while she, glittery voyager of secure destination steamed down the harbor with whistles whistling and confetti in the air.”

“What shall I do with this ageing me? Neither floating nor sinking,I drift, tossed by the waves of years.”

“You ride to battle?" Karede asked."I was thinking more of a saunter," Mat said. He shook his head. "I need a feel for what Demandred is doing...I'm going out there, Karede, and putting you fellows between me and the Trollocs sounds delightful. Are you coming?”

“The Doctor: Sorry, do you have a name?Idris: Seven hundred years and finally he asks. The Doctor: But what do I call you?Idris: I think you call me... Sexy? The Doctor: [embarrassed] Only when we're alone. Idris: We are alone. The Doctor: Oh. Come on then, Sexy.”