No subscription or hidden extras
Read through the most famous quotes by topic #venice
Mestre. Say the word without hissing the conurbated villain, and pitying its citizens. As quickly as they can, two million tourists pass through, or by, Mestre each year, and each one will be struck by the same thought as they wonder at the aesthetic opposition that it represents. Mestre is an ugly town but ugly only in the same way that Michael Jackson might be desccribed as eccentric or a Tabasco Vindaloo flambéed in rocket fuel might be described as warm. Mestre is almost excremental in its hideousness: a fetid, fly-blown, festering, industrial urbanization, scarred with varicose motorways, flyovers, rusting railway sidings and the rubbish of a billion holidaymakers gradually burning, spewing thick black clouds into the Mediterranean sky. A town with apparently no centre, a utilitarian ever-expandable wasteland adapted to house the displaced poor, the shorebound, outpriced, domicile-deprived exiles from its neighbouring city. For, just beyond the condom- and polystyrene-washed, black-stained, mud shores of Marghera, Mestre's very own oil refinery, less than a mile away across the waters of the lagoon in full sight of its own dispossessed citizens, is the Jewel of Adriatic. Close enough for all to feel the magnetism, there stands the most beautiful icon of Renaissance glory and, like so much that can attract tourism, a place too lovely to be left in the hands of its natives, the Serenissima itself, Venice. ↗
Amy: Oh, typical bloke. Straight to fixing his motor. The Doctor: Well, that's the thing, Amy. I am not a typical bloke. Amy: Sorry, did I do something wrong? 'Cause I'm getting kind of mixed signals here! The Doctor: Mixed signals? How? Amy: Oh, come on. You turn up in the middle of the night, get me out of my bed in my nightie, which you then don't let me change out of for ages, and take me for a spin in your time machine? No, no, you're right, no mixed signals there. That is just a signal! Like a great, big Bat-signal in the sky. "Get your coat, love, the Doctor is in." The Doctor: ... No! No! Nonononononono, it's... not like that. That's not what I'm like! Amy: Then what are you like? The Doctor: I dunno, Gandalf. Like a space Gandalf. Or that little green guy in Star Wars... [spins around, making a lightsaber sound effect] Amy: [stifles a chuckle] You really are not. You. Are. A bloke. The Doctor: I'm the Doctor. Amy: Every room you walk into, you laugh at all the men and show off to all the girls. The Doctor: Do not. Amy: What about Rory? [the Doctor snort-laughs, gesturing toward his nose] You laughed! The Doctor: No, that was just an involuntary snort... of... fondness! Amy: You are a bloke and you don't know it. [puts her arms around him] And here I am to help. The Doctor: [pushing her away] That is not why you're here. Amy: Then why am I here? The Doctor: Because! [lowers his voice] Because I can't see it anymore. Amy: See what? The Doctor: I'm 907. After a while... you just can't see it! Amy: See what? The Doctor: Everything! I look at a star and it's just a big ball of burning gas and I know how it began and I know how it ends and I was probably there both times. After a while, everything is just stuff! That's the problem. You make all of space and time your backyard and what do you have? A backyard. But you, you can see it. And when you see it, I see it. Amy: And that's the only reason you took me with you? The Doctor: There are worse reasons. Amy: [snorts] I was certainly hoping so. [pause] Does that mean I'm not the first, then? There've been others travelling with you? The Doctor: [chuckles nervously] Yeah, sure. Loads of 'em, but just friends. You know, chums, pals, mates, buddies--not mates, forget mates. Amy: And out of all those friends, how many would you say, just out of curiosity, were girls? The Doctor: [getting increasingly uncomfortable] Oh... some of them, I suppose. Must have been. Amy: "Some?" The Doctor: It's hard to tell. It's a grey area. Amy: Under half, over half? The Doctor: Probably... slightly... a little bit over? Amy: Hmm. Young? The Doctor: Everyone's young, compared to me. Amy: [chuckles] Hot? The Doctor: No, no no no no no no, none of them. Not really. Not at all. Probably not... [scratches his cheek nervously] ... maybe one or two. I didn't really notice. Amy: Well, this big ol' machine must have some kind of visual records. The Doctor: Oh, god, I mean no--and anyway, they're voice-locked! Amy: [laughs] Oh, voice-locked. So I'd just have to say... "Show me all visual records of previous TARDIS inhabitants?" The Doctor: No, nonono, I mean voice-locked. I would have to say, "Show me all visual records of previous TARDIS inhabitants." Amy: Awww. Thank you. The Doctor: No, no! No! No! [The TARDIS makes some noises as pictures of past female companions flip by on the viewscreen] Amy: Ha-ha! Ooh, Gandalf! The Doctor: [to the TARDIS] Thanks. Thanks, dear. Miss out the metal dog, why don't you? Amy: Is that a leather bikini? [pictures of Leela start to flip by] The Doctor: Right! That's it. Rory. We're going to find Rory, and we're gonna find him now! Amy: He's at his stag night. The Doctor: Well, then. Let's make it a great one. ↗
