Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

I am not dying in here.
It's goodbye trampoline and hello blondie!
The brain is a delicate thing.
The lonely god.
Well, now, that would be impossible.
It's said he'll talk to a wanderer. To the man without a home.
-a form of legal contract. -Winch me up!
And I suppose I'm company. I can hear him singing sometimes,
I've seen enough, thank you.
Out of the way, blondie!
- The mistress is beautiful. -Absolument.
It's the year five billion and twenty-three.
Now run along! Sound the alarm!
That man, he's the Doctor.
Oh, does it have to?
I modelled him on my favourite pattern.
You like it.
He might be up and about but only as a statue.
Oh, my God!
Me, too.
No, it's missing something else.
No shop downstairs. I'd have a shop. Not a big one, just a shop.
Pallidome pancrosis. Kills you in ten minutes, and he's fine.
Impossible! I recognise that child.
My mistress!
You thought so, too. I've been inside your head.
You can't do that. If they forced entry, they'd break quarantine.
- Wotcha. -Where've you been?
the Face of Boe will impart his great secret.
Don't you dare! He's got a life of his own.
There's all sorts of superstitions around him.
Oh! Ah! Two hearts!
That's amazing.
- Where am I? -And speech.
I remember that night. Drinks for the Ambassador of Thrace.
Come in! Don't be shy.
Completely cured.