No; resume your disorder.
I must protest, Sir! I am NOT a “Merry Man.”
“I could use a shower.”
“…”
“…Yes.”
You should be in your quarters.
Well… go ahead!
You’d like that: a manly scar above your eye, ‘Chakotay, the Maquis Mauler.’
In this one’s case, Kirk Captain, this one is still an eggling.
You soured the milk!
My uniform probably tastes better.
Who needs rational when your toes curl?
Without Q, Isaac Newton would have died forgotten in a Liverpool debtor’s prison, a suspect in several prostitute murders.
The ship was built for combat performance, Harry, not for musical performance.
You need to talk to him.
I got work to do; if I don’t get these books in order, Uncle Sam’s going to come down on me like a ton of bricks!
Actually, there’s no universe outside.
If there’s nothing wrong with me, maybe there’s something wrong with the universe.
I think we should boldly get the hell out of here.
Make it so, ensign.
If you have some time one day, maybe you can teach me how to bunt.
Wait here.