I will feed him.
All you care about is you.
THAT was the equation! Existence — SURVIVAL! — must cancel out programming!
He’s a traitor, you know. Your father. For marrying that human whore.
C’mon, do I really have to connect the dots? You’re crazy about the broad, but you’re afraid to do anything about it.
Sounds resourceful.
The way I see it, you can either burn it or you can stick it in a drawer for fifty years or however long it takes the human race to become color-blind.
The Controller is young and powerful. Perfect!
You insult us!
How very flattering.
Ironic. One who does not wish to be among us is to be the Emissary.
I’m not a magician, Spock — just an old country doctor.
Sounds like a party.
Well, what do you guys do? I mean, you don’t drink, and you ain’t got no TV…
Who wants to counteract Paradise?
Burt Lancaster, standing there in the middle of Pearl Harbor, machine gun blazing, shooting down those Zeros.
QUARK: The Jem’Hadar don’t eat, don’t drink, and they don’t have sex. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the Founders don’t eat and don’t drink, and they don’t have sex either. Which, between you and me, makes my financial future less than promising.
ZIYAL: It might not be so bad. For all we know the Vorta could be gluttonous, alcoholic sex maniacs.
QUARK: I never thought of that. I wonder what their favorite food is?
“I like tube grubs — and your father is the only person on this planet who can get me live ones.”
“I’ve been thinking of adding them to our menu. Of course I’ll have to cook them for my human customers, serve them with a nice remoulade.”
“Cook them? What good are tube grubs if they don’t wriggle on the way down?”
Cadet, you are obviously under the mistaken impression that I am asking you for a favor. I want a name, and I want it now, and THAT is an ORDER! Understood, Mr. Nog?
…Julian Bashir, Secret Agent, will return!