Eighth Doctor Quotes

Eighth Doctor: I love humans. Always seeing patterns in things that aren’t there.

What kind of person actually sits down and decides that no one should be allowed to end a sentence with a preposition? Not even decide what ideas you should or shouldn't talk about, but to actually make rules about what order to put your words in... It's such an amazing kind of petty tyranny.

In the end, it cannot be doubted that each of us can see only a part of the picture. The doctor sees one, the patient another, the engineer a third, the economist a fourth, the pearl diver a fifth, the alcoholic a sixth, the cable guy a seventh, the sheep farmer an eighth, the Indian beggar a ninth, the pastor a tenth. Human knowledge is never contained in one person. It grows from the relationships we create between each other and the world, and still it is never complete. And Truth comes somewhere above all of them, where,

Struggle toward the capital-T Truth, but recognize that the task is impossible—or that if a correct answer is possible, verification certainly is impossible. In the end, it cannot be doubted that each of us can see only part of the picture. The doctor sees one, the patient another, the engineer a third, the economist a fourth, the pearl diver a fifth, the alcoholic a sixth, the cable guy a seventh, the sheep farmer an eighth, the Indian beggar a ninth, the pastor a tenth. Human knowledge is never contained in one person. It grows from the relationships we create between each other and the world, and still it is never complete. And truth comes somewhere above all of them, where, as at the end of that Sunday’s reading: the sower and reaper can rejoice together. For here the saying is verified that “One sows and another reaps.” I sent you to reap what you have not worked for; others have done the work, and you are sharing the fruits of that work.

Apparently the Time Lords have a long and honourable tradition of genocide when they think the stakes are high enough

I'd always assumed Beth and I would be friends forever. But then in middle of the eighth grade, the Goldbergs went through the World's Nastiest Divorce. Beth went a little nuts. I don't blame her. When her dad got involved with this twenty-one year old dental hygienist, Beth got involved with the junk food aisle at the grocery store. She carried processed snack cakes the way toddlers carry teddy bears. She gained, like, twenty pounds, but I didn't think it was a big deal. I figured she'd get back to her usual weight once the shock wore off. Unfortunately, I wasn't the only person who noticed. May 14 was 'Fun and Fit Day" at Surry Middle School, so the gym was full of booths set up by local health clubs and doctors and dentists and sports leagues, all trying to entice us to not end up as couch potatoes. That part was fine. What wasn't fine was when the whole school sat down to watch the eighth-grade cheerleaders' program on physical fitness.

Remember when Adric drove that freighter full of antimatter into the Earth, and wiped out the dinosaurs for you? You felt like you’d lost so much, but let’s be honest, you won that day. You did what you always do. You looked after history. You made sure the dinosaurs died out, dead on schedule.

EIGHTH AMENDMENT The government shall not “crack down” on drug crime while taking kickbacks from industries and companies perpetuating addiction and abuse. You can’t fight wars on drugs—only on people. The drug war kills people, not drugs. Anytime you hear a politician talk about being tough on drugs but then say nothing about pharmaceutical companies, doctors, or insurance providers needing reform as well, you call them what they are: hacks. And hit them in the fa—we mean, vote against them.

The creatures came up the stairs a few at a time, pausing to sit up and sniff the air. Their eyes glinted in the darkness.They were a foot long. They were covered in moth-eaten grey fur and they had enormous fangs and big bushy tails, and there were maybe twenty of them, chittering from all around. Vampire crack squirrels, thought James, and wished he hadn't.

can see only a part of the picture. The doctor sees one, the patient another, the engineer a third, the economist a fourth, the pearl diver a fifth, the alcoholic a sixth, the cable guy a seventh, the sheep farmer an eighth, the Indian beggar a ninth, the pastor a tenth. Human

We have family on Mars. And when you have children, there isn't anything you wouldn't do to protect them." Doctor: "You'd even allow an innocent person to die?" "Yes, if I had to." Doctor: "Well then, that's the difference between us. I'd give up my own life without hesitation; it's mine to give. Just don't ask me to give up anybody else's. ... This is how evil starts: With the belief that the ends justify the means. But once you start down that road, there's no turning back. What if you can save a million lives, but you have to let ten people die? Or a hundred? Or a hundred thousand? Where do you stop?

In the end, it cannot be doubted that each of us can see only a part of the picture. The doctor sees one, the patient another, the engineer a third, the economist a fourth, the pearl diver a fifth, the alcoholic a sixth, the cable guy a seventh, the sheep farmer an eighth, the Indian beggar a ninth, the pastor a tenth.

I don’t see what kind of trouble you and John could possibly—” John shifted impatiently in his chair. “Come on, David. Who found the body? Who dug it up and then buried it again, after taking a piece of evidence the forensics people would no doubt consider vital? Who brought that piece of evidence halfway across the country so an eighth-grader could use it like a Ouija board?

In the end, it cannot be doubted that each of us can see only a part of the picture. The doctor sees one, the patient another, the engineer a third, the economist a fourth, the pearl diver a fifth, the alcoholic a sixth, the cable guy a seventh, the sheep farmer an eighth, the Indian beggar a ninth, the pastor a tenth. Human knowledge is never contained in one person. It grows from the relationships we create between each other and the world, and still it is never complete.

He reached into his jacket pocket. Over the years, people had often commented on his ability to produce exactly the right item from his pockets at exactly the right time. Some had speculated that his pockets were extensions of the TARDIS, others had guessed he was just lucky. But then, they’d never read Yeltstrom’s Karma and Flares: The Importance of Fashion Sense to the Modern Zen Master. They didn’t appreciate the things a sentient life-form could achieve, if he was totally at one with the lining of his jacket.

Struggle toward the capital-T Truth, but recognize that the task is impossible—or that if a correct answer is possible, verification certainly is impossible. In the end, it cannot be doubted that each of us can see only a part of the picture. The doctor sees one, the patient another, the engineer a third, the economist a fourth, the pearl diver a fifth, the alcoholic a sixth, the cable guy a seventh, the sheep farmer an eighth, the Indian beggar a ninth, the pastor a tenth. Human knowledge is never contained in one person. It grows from the relationships we create between each other and the world, and still it is never complete. And Truth comes somewhere above all of them.

They did not speak of this together. At night he worked downstairs while she slept, and during the morning she managed the restaurant alone. When they worked together he stayed behind the cash register and looked after the kitchen and the tables, as was their custom. They did not talk except on matters of business, but Biff would stand watching her with his face puzzled. Then in the afternoon of the eighth of October there was a sudden cry of pain from the room where they slept. Biff hurried upstairs. Within an hour they had taken Alice to the hospital and the doctor had removed from her a tumor almost the size of a new-born child. And then within another hour Alice was dead. Biff sat by her bed at the hospital in stunned reflection. He had been present when she died. Her eyes had been drugged and misty from the ether and then they hardened like glass. The nurse and the doctor withdrew from the room. He continued to look into her face. Except for the bluish pallor there was little difference. He noted each detail about her as though he had not watched her every day for twenty-one years. Then gradually as he sat there his thoughts turned to a picture that had long been stored inside him.

In the Libyan desert, fused glass and radioactive tektites were discovered and analyzed by Dr R V Dolphin. His discoveries are discussed by Colin Wilson and Rand Flem-Ath: After studying the Libyan desert glass, Dolphin suggested that for the ancient Phoenicians to have worked with temperatures equivalent to 6,000 degrees Celsius, they may have known the secret of atomic power – (The Atlantis Blueprint) Six thousand degrees Celsius is only two thousand degrees less than the temperature of the sun. At the same location jars and vases were found that fashioned in the same manner as earthenware. However, these artifacts were not made from clay, but the hardest substances known, such as basalt, quartz and diorite. Necks of vases were so narrow no hand could possibly have fashioned their interiors. High temperatures must have been employed, but experts are mystified as to how that was accomplished. Exceptionally high temperatures are required to remove impurities from gold. So scientists found themselves perplexed after necklaces, found in Libya, turned out to be one hundred percent pure gold. Doctor Dolphin accepted the truth and openly admitted what most of his academic colleagues could not, namely, that the secrets of atomic energy were known in prehistoric times. Charles Berlitz collated information on similar cases in Mesopotamia and Scotland. He wrote: After finding layers of Babylonian and Sumerian artifacts, the archaeologists had passed through 14 feet of clay which indicated a prolonged flood. Below this strata was a level of fused glass, the same kind found at Alamogordo in Texas after the A-bomb blasts – (Atlantis: The Eighth Continent) In west Scotland there is a fort that has one of its sides completely fused into glass, in the same manner. It had received some intense heat, but not lightening – ibid

The “thing” in their hands not only kept them in touch, but it directed the lives of Eighth Cycle citizens. They would just swipe their hands past an “eye” at the “storehouses” where they would get their food and supplies. A device not only registered but controlled what they obtained. It also reminded them when to go in to see a doctor, which Joseph had mentioned to Sinclair was designated by the Athabaskan word for shaman. Within this part of the information was a great deal of detail about medicines, ceremonies and other archaic notions of medicine. Sinclair suspected the Athabaskan words concealed something sinister with regard to the constant monitoring of every citizen’s health.

Almost every day a beautiful woman wearing a ball gown made of grey parachute silk and a broad-brimmed hat trimmed with grey roses visits me. Hardly have I sat down in my armchair, tired from work, but I hear her steps outside on the pavement. She sweeps in at the gate, past the almond tree, and there she is, on the threshold of my workshop. Hastily she comes over to me, like a doctor afraid that she may be too late to save a sinking patient. She takes off her hat and her hair tumbles about her shoulders, she strips off her fencing gloves and tosses them onto this little table, and she bends down towards me. I close my eyes in a swoon – and how it goes on after that point, I do not know. One thing is certain: we never say a word. The scene is always a silent one. I think the grey lady understands only her mother tongue, German, which I have not once spoken since I parted from my parents at Oberwiesenfeld airport in Munich in 1939, and which survives in me as no more than an echo, a muted and incomprehensible murmur. It may possibly have something to do with this loss of language, this oblivion, Ferber went on, that my memories reach no further back than my ninth or eighth year, and that I recall little of the Munich years after 1933 other than processions, marches and parades.

Nothing that is mine seems to me to deserve my pride: in the seventh grade, I couldn't admire the eighth-grades enough, though the eighth grade seemed to me quite devoid of charm once I was in it. And so on until the day I found myself with a doctorate in something and decorated, and had only scorn for such mediocre privileges. Life grows disenchanting as our dreams are fulfilled.