Matt Smith: I think he's astounded, flabberghasted, afraid, endeared and turned on all at the same time.
The Eleventh Doctor: Finish him off, girl. (Said to the TARDIS as she prepares to destroy House.)
The Eleventh Doctor: You know, since we're talking, with mouths, not really an opportunity that comes around very often, I should just like to say, you know, you have never been very reliable!
Idris/Sexy: And you have?!
The Eleventh Doctor: You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.
Idris/Sexy: No . . . but I always took you where you needed to go.
The Eleventh Doctor: . . . you did.
The Eleventh Doctor: Come on . . . I'm sorry, do you have a name?
Idris/Sexy: Seven hundred years, and finally he asks.
The Eleventh Doctor: Well, what do I call you?
Idris/Sexy: I believe you call me . . . [thinks for a moment] "Sexy."
The Eleventh Doctor: [flustered] Only when we're alone!
Idris/Sexy: We are alone.
The Eleventh Doctor: Oh. Well, come on, Sexy!
"Exterior: void space. Bubble universe. Floating in utter starless darkness, a small asteroid that's a junkyard. The Totters Lane at the end of the universe. On the surface, wrecked and abandoned high and low tech things, ripped canvas temporary structures, held together by rope and junk. There are four people there. They're all dressed in patchwork clothes that look like they were assembled from wardrobe castoffs, using whatever was to hand . . . Holding Uncle's right hand is Idris, who is beautiful. She wears a wrecked Victorian party dress."
— Script by Neil Gaiman
