“Yours ain’t no better: writing stories about a bunch of white people living on the moon.”
I use it to polish the Flame Gems.
I am Nomad. I am perfect.
The body is covered with a self-renewing plastic over a skeleton of beryllium-titanium alloy.
And at warp 10, we’re going nowhere mighty fast.
All right, we’ll do it the old-fashioned way: set a course for the Federation . . . Warp 13.
I’m a doctor, not a bricklayer.
Glad to hear it; I don’t need the competition. What I do need is someone to handle the black-and-whites; my piano player just threw ten sevens in a row at the craps table and took off for Reno.
Yeah, about that - don’t quit your day job.
It is the business of all humanity, I believe, to stop both of you from whatever it is you are doing here — and that is what I intend to do.
Join us. You’ve always wanted to see the stars.
Jeez, I dunno; we’re pretty happy with the maid we’ve got; cook’s decent; dishwasher’s drunk all day, but at least he gets here on time…
Baby needs a new pair of shoes.
RIKER: Captain Picard, this is Minuet. Minuet, Captain Jean-Luc Picard.
MINUET: Enchantee. Comme c’est merveilleux de vous voir ici.
PICARD: Incroyable! Vous etes Parisienne?
MINUET: Au fond, c’est vrai, nous sommes tous Parisiens.
PICARD: Oui, au fond, nous sommes tous Parisiens. The spirit of that city can always enchant my soul.
I understand.
Engage!
Aye, they’re in the food processors now.
It’s not that easy; there are…differences…in the way that my people make love.
Here it comes.
Well done, Mister Data — though I don’t think you got Commander Riker’s hair quite right.