Rose, the moon is incredible. Everything down on Earth relies on it. Rats jump for it. Tides rush out from it. Humans kiss under it. Without it there’d be nothing down there worth the light....

William Shakespeare: ‘Close up this din of hateful decay, decomposition of your witches’ plot! You thieve my brains, consider me your toy, my doting doctor tells me I am not!’ Lilith: No! Words of power!...

Lilith: Oh, but your heart grows cold. A north wind blows and carries down the distant… Rose? The Doctor: Oooh, big mistake! Because that name keeps me fighting!

This,’ whispered the Doctor to Romana, ‘is going to be like trying to find a book about needles in a room full of books about haystacks.