“Mind the dead man, my dear.”

“Nay if even in the house of Hades the dead forget their dead, yet will I even there be mindful of my dear comrade.”

“No, instead it is the beastly Cecily Temple who answers me. Dead, dear Cecily, or as I affectionately refer to her in the privacy of my mind, She Who Inflicts Misery Simply by Breathing.”

“Give me a man who understands my moods, who brother-like, understands my grouchiness. If you will give your mind to what I say, dear friend, you will remember me one day.”

“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.”

“If there is a subject that is my own, my dear Ellen, as a writer I mean, it is the persistent shape-shifting life of things long-dead but not vanished.”