I hate this! It is revolting !
You’ll survive.
It is green.
If I had time, I’d have children.
Hail hail, fire and snow. Call the angel, we will go. Far away, for to see, friendly Angel, come to me.
Where else can you get fresh slug liver first thing in the morning?
T’Ana: You’ll be fine. Want me to clean up those disgusting scars?
Beckett Mariner: Uh, no way. No. These are my trophies.
T’Ana: Congratulations, you look like a f—ing scratching post.
“And he will require water. And you must provide him with a sandbox - and you must talk to him. Tell him he is a pretty cat, and a good cat…”
“I will feed him.”
“Perhaps that will be enough.”
Can I help you?
Still up to your little game of replicas?
Anyway, let’s move on to somebody even more important, perhaps the most important person in Starfleet history, Chief Miles O’Brien.
“I’m Chief Miles Edward O’Brien. And I’m very much alive, and intend to stay that way!”
I don’t belong on your ship. I belong on this one. This was my home. This is where I had a purpose. But it’s not real. It’s just a computer generated fantasy. And I’m just an old man who’s trying to hide in it. Computer, shut this bloody thing off. It’s time I acted my age.
If you ever disrespect me like that again, I’ll skip the court-martial and blow you out the airlock!
“So that’s the way we do it now? Sweep it under the rug, and me along with it? Not on your life. I intend to fight!”
“Then you draw a general court!”
“Draw it? I demand it, and right now, Commodore Stone, right now!”
This is fantasy! We all know the murderer is sitting right here. You’re trying to cloud the issue.
Assassins! Murderers! Murderers! Assassins!
Klingon bastard! You killed my son!
I’m Captain Kirk. I’m Captain Kirk! I’m Captain Kirk! I’m Captain Kirk!
“Cool. Well, live long and prosper.”
"Don’t you give me that sarcastic Vulcan salute! Beckett!"