"I like the beats and shouting!"
— Jaylah to Montgomery Scott, Star Trek Beyond
Ludwig: I do hope that's not simian literature.
Fontaine: Humans, regardless of their flaws, do know how to spin a good tale, old chap!
Chancellor Gorkon: I offer a toast. The undiscovered country... the future.
Everyone: The undiscovered country.
Spock: Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1.
Chancellor Gorkon: You have not experienced Shakespeare until you have read him In the Original Klingon.
Everyone: The undiscovered country.
Spock: Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1.
Chancellor Gorkon: You have not experienced Shakespeare until you have read him In the Original Klingon.
Mmm, Emmentaler. How did you humans invent a food that gets better the more holes it has in it?
— Lieutenant Ebbirnoth, Schlock Mercenary
Kitana: You were right! Seeing a film is a transcendent experience!
Johnny Cage: Hollywood magic for the win.
Johnny Cage: Hollywood magic for the win.
"Oh, really?" The xenos' ruined lips twitched a little. It raised a clawed hand, and extended a single digit. From all around them both, soft music began to play, wafting up from unseen emitters. For a moment, Crowl had no idea what it was, only that it wasn't the filth he'd heard out in the webway. Despite himself, despite wishing to have nothing to do with this charade, he had to listen. And the more he listened, the more he wanted to — he found that he wasn't breathing. He always forgot to breathe, faced with this.
"Bacque," he murmured.
"Bach," corrected the xenos.
"That's what I said."
"No, like this. Bach."
Crowl looked up at it, bewildered. "How did you-"
"Genius, is it not? Produced in your race's infancy, back when my kind merely observed your habits out of intellectual curiosity. Never bettered. I would trade all of Commorragh's pleasure-pits for more. Keep listening." He did. In some ways, it was the worst horror of all, having this music, the devotion to which had been his most private joy, played to him by such a creature. It tainted it, spoiled it. And yet, here it was still, perfect, beautiful, as immaculate as a pearl lost in the sordid unreality of this realm of pain. After a few precious moments, the sound faded away. The xenos had closed its eyes. When it opened them again, a trail of tears ran down its sunken cheeks. "Astonishing," it said sincerely. "You do not feel it, as we do. But I must believe that even you can be moved too, to some degree."
"What is the point of this?"
"To show you what you once were. Something. You lived then. You created. Now you merely exist." The xenos wiped its damp cheeks with a dirty handkerchief pulled from one of its many pockets.
"Bacque," he murmured.
"Bach," corrected the xenos.
"That's what I said."
"No, like this. Bach."
Crowl looked up at it, bewildered. "How did you-"
"Genius, is it not? Produced in your race's infancy, back when my kind merely observed your habits out of intellectual curiosity. Never bettered. I would trade all of Commorragh's pleasure-pits for more. Keep listening." He did. In some ways, it was the worst horror of all, having this music, the devotion to which had been his most private joy, played to him by such a creature. It tainted it, spoiled it. And yet, here it was still, perfect, beautiful, as immaculate as a pearl lost in the sordid unreality of this realm of pain. After a few precious moments, the sound faded away. The xenos had closed its eyes. When it opened them again, a trail of tears ran down its sunken cheeks. "Astonishing," it said sincerely. "You do not feel it, as we do. But I must believe that even you can be moved too, to some degree."
"What is the point of this?"
"To show you what you once were. Something. You lived then. You created. Now you merely exist." The xenos wiped its damp cheeks with a dirty handkerchief pulled from one of its many pockets.
—Warhammer 40,000: Vaults Of Terra: The Dark City
