The Doctor: Oh, now what's this, then? I love this. A big, flashy-lighty thing. That's what brought me here. Big, flashy-lighty things have got me written all over them. Not actually, but give me time... and a crayon.

I hope I won't become hated by geeks everywhere, but I don't really know comic books all that well.

My problem is that the audience is more fiction-literate than ever. In Shakespeare's day, you probably expected to see a play once or twice in your life; today you experience four or five different kinds of fiction every day. So staying ahead of the audience is impossible.

The difference between a beautifully made failure and a beautifully made hit is who you've got playing the leads.

You take this cold, remarkable, difficult, dangerous, borderline psychopath man, and you wonder what might have happened to him had he not met his best friend, a friend that no one would have put him with, this solid, dependable, brave, big-hearted war hero. I think people fall in love, not with Sherlock Holmes or Dr. Watson, but with their friendship. I think it is the most famous friendship in fiction, without a doubt.

Rose: Look at you, beaming away like you're Father Christmas! The Doctor: Who says I'm not, red-bicycle-when-you-were-twelve? Rose: [shocked] What? The Doctor: And everybody lives, Rose! Everybody lives! I need more days like this! Go on, ask me anything; I'm on fire!

Well we've moved through the funfair a bit – we've done the rollercoaster, now we're on the ghost train.