MESSENGER: Rassilon, the dying Pythia cursed Gallifrey. There will be no more children. The world is barren and doomed!
RASSILON: D’oh!
SHADOWY MAN: Told you so. Now about the shortage of housing...

CHRIS: Sorry, Roz. We shouldn’t have done that. But I love you.
ROZ: Tough! I’m leading an attack on that GTO station on top of that hill. (RUNS OFF WAVING GUN)

THE DOCTOR: Chris, it’s Roz.
CHRIS: Is she...?
THE DOCTOR: She went up the hill into history.
CHRIS: (BITES HIS KNUCKLES) I’m trying to cope.

DOROTHEE (née ACE): These days I live in 19th century Paris. But I’ve got this time-travelling motor bike, so I do all my shopping at Marks and Spencers.

CHRIS: The card says "To Leela. For your wedding."
(THE DOCTOR SHAKES THE GIFT-WRAPPED BOX. IT RATTLES OMINOUSLY)
THE DOCTOR: It was for her underwear drawer. I must pop it in to Gallifrey sometime.
CHRIS: It's past its sell-by date.
THE DOCTOR: Gallifrey or the lingerie? (SLAPS POCKETS) Bother! I don't have a receipt for either of them.

GOLD USHER: Do you swear by the Rod of Rassilon to uphold the holy office of President of the High Council of Gallifrey?
ROMANA: Hang on. (ADJUSTS MATRIX AT JAUNTY ANGLE) I swear.
(TIME LORDS LOOK SUITABLY UNCOMFORTABLE.)

THE DOCTOR: Chris, I have a presentiment of doom. I can’t see beyond my seventh self. Eighth Man Bound.
CHRIS: I’m still trying to cope.