I want them to ski across the poem’s surface, waving at the author on the shore. But all they want to do is tie it to a chair & torture a confession out of it.
Well, I’ve been there, sitting in that same chair, whispering that same prayer half a million times. It’s a lie, though, buried in disciples. One page of the Bible isn’t worth a life.
I’d like Moira to end with something daring and spectacular, some outrage, something that would befit her. But as far as I know that didn’t happen. I don’t know how she ended, or even if she did, because I never saw her again.
SARDICK: What does that matter to you?
DOCTOR: Look how it mattered to you.
SARDICK: I cried all night, and I learned life’s most invaluable lesson.
DOCTOR: Which is?
SARDICK: Nobody comes.
He saw that in me and he nodded. Effortlessly, like trusting me was the easiest thing there was. I wish I had that much faith in me. Feels like you could fix the whole damn galaxy with someone looking at you that way.
Will you reward us for the virtue of starving while others ate? No man earns punishment, no man earns reward. Free your mind of the idea of deserving, the idea of earning, and you will begin to be able to think.
There’s never going to be a room someplace where there’s a group of people sitting around, having fun, hanging out, where one of them goes, ‘You know what would be great? We should call Fiona.’ That’ll never happen. There’s nothing interesting about me.