I assure you, I am quite fertile.
Your unsuitability has condemned the Talosian race to eventual death.
Sometimes I think there’s no pleasing you.
My impression is that your race is not yet ready to understand us, Captain.
Starfleet Command doesn’t acknowledge its existence.
But — don’t you see? — that’s the lie.
Whew, emotions are intense without a dopamine inhibitor.
All I have is a bottle of very, very, very old Scotch.
Kill you all!
Find me…before they do.
Just keep your elbow low when you throw the right, and don’t come in too straight; you’ll be okay.
If we don’t find a way out of chaotic space soon, we’re going to die here.
Start checking the impossible.
Our baby would have been so beautiful…
Get out of our way.
How can you be comfortable watching people die?
This is a very complex set of variables to coordinate, Doctor.
Is this how you plan to gain my trust?
And so, when the others come, you can die with all the rest of them.
Jim, when I requested to Spock that it was time for his routine check-up, your logical, unemotional First Officer turned to me and said, “You will cease to pry into my personal matters, Doctor, or I will certainly break your neck!”