We are Hugh.
You aren’t very persistent, Mr. Sulu. The game has rules. You’re ignoring them. I protest and you come back. You didn’t… come… back.
Please! 
No kill I
Shut up, Wesley!
When your logic doesn’t work, you raise your voice? You’ve been on Earth too long.
Oh, you’re so stolid! You weren’t like that before the beard.
Risk is our business.
Greed is eternal.
Shootin’ at a lizard is a whole lot different than shootin’ at a person. And, er… lizards don’t shoot back.
That, Miss Lincoln, is simply my cat.
Will you get your damn cat off the Holodeck!
Data: He will require water. And you must provide him with a sandbox - and you must talk to him. Tell him he is a pretty cat, and a good cat…
Worf: I will feed him.
Data: Perhaps that will be enough.
Dr. McCoy: Do you know what you get if you feed a tribble too much?
Capt. Kirk: A fat tribble.
Dr. McCoy: No. You get a whole bunch of hungry little tribbles.
Capt. Kirk: Well, Bones, all I can suggest… is you open up a maternity ward.
So would an ermine violin, Doctor, but I see no practical point in having one.
Well, so much for my dramatic exit.
No… I am not dead. Because I refuse to believe that the afterlife is run by you. The universe is not so badly designed.
The Doctor: You hit the wrong ship!
EMH Mark II: It wasn’t my fault.
The Doctor: Then whose fault was it, the torpedo’s? You’re supposed to tell it what to do!
I’m a doctor, not a moon-shuttle conductor.
Nog: The first landing parties will arrive here! [points at a random spot on a map]
Wainwright: Where?
Nog: Here, right next to this blue blob!
Wainwright: You mean your people are going to invade… Cleveland?