We did it, you and me. Put him right under the table!
She called you a hero? And for that you slugged your best friend?
I hate parties.
I know people: people with dough, high rollers; I could bring 'em into the casino…
Exalt the fallen and commit them to the cosmos.
I can safely say that to know him was to love him, and to love him was to know him.
That is some delicate transporter work.
I have determined how Moriarty was able to leave the holodeck: he never did; neither did we; none of this is real.
What does firing gently even mean?
What, does it make an alternate cinematic timeline that runs concurrent to our own but with, like, different people playing younger versions of us?
You are erratic. Conflicted. Disorganized. Every decision is debated, every action questioned, every individual entitled to their own small opinion. You lack harmony, cohesion, greatness. It will be your undoing.
I successfully planted a command into the Borg collective consciousness, sir; it misdirected them to believe it was time to regenerate. In effect, I put them all to sleep.
Are you supposed to just ‘sit’ here?
Okay, but watch your caboose and dump the broad.
Come in! Come in!
Are you of The Body?
In a sense. But who knows? Our reality may be very much like theirs; all this might be just be an elaborate simulation running inside a little device sitting on someone’s table.
Another time, perhaps.
(Tuvok’s invariable response when Neelix would invite him to do something he didn’t want to do)
Mr. Scott, have you always multiplied your repair estimates by a factor of four?
It is revolting!