Mole Mann

“Oh yes, yes indeed NNNNNNNN Good Evening Tyrone Slothrop We Have Been Waiting For You. Of Course We Are Here. You Didn't Think We Had Just Faded Away, No, No Tyrone, We Must Hurt You Again If You Are Going To Be That Stupid, Hurt You Again And Again Yes Tyrone You Are So Hopeless So Stupid And Doomed. Are You Really Supposed To Find Anything? What If It Is Death Tyrone? What If We Don't Want You To Find Anything? If We Don't Want To Give You Your Discharge You'll Just Go On Like This Forever Won't You? Maybe We Want You Only To Keep On. You Don't Know Do You Tyrone. What
Makes You Think You Can Play As Well As We Can? You Can't. You Think You're Good But You're Really Shit And We All Know It. That Is In Your Dossier. (Laughter. Humming.)”
― Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow

“Odd that you mention new words.' The Doctor's face was red now, capillaries swelling under the biomass probes of the stone. 'Gallifreyan's always been a static language, hasn't it? We go out into the universe and talk to everyone, but we don't take loan words back into our own tongue. TARDISes translate everything for us, or time rings, or things like your locket there. We don't have to integrate our experiences into words: they do it for us.' A vein in his neck began to pulsate, and next to it a warm glow spread through the blackness of the stone as if it were pleased.”
― Simon Bucher-Jones, Doctor Who: The Taking of Planet 5

“Whate'er they are, there is a weight in resolution sufficient for their balance. The soul, I do confess, is usually so careless of its charge, so soft, and so indulgent to desire, it leaves the reins in the wild hand of nature, who, like a Phaeton, drives the fiery chariot, and sets the world on flame. Yet still the sovereignty is in the mind, whene'er it pleases to exert its force. Perhaps you may not think it worth your while to take such mighty pains for my esteem; but that I leave to you.

You see the Price I set upon my Heart,
Perhaps 'tis dear: But spite of all your Art,
You'll find on cheaper Terms we ne'er shall part.”
― John Vanbrugh, The Relapse

“There was a place in Hell where skulls were the only ornaments, and the servants had no faces. Even from there he had been cast out. As a shadow of a shade he came to dwell at the edge of a certain abyss, in a tower built out of the bodies of those he had personally marked when he had been allowed in the dark councils of Mictlan. This happened soon after the masters of the Celestial Intervention Agency, the Celestis, had pulled the doors of perception closed behind themselves lest their histories be unravelled in the war with the Time Lords’ future enemy, in the battles they had foreseen. They had put reality behind them like a bad dream and turned themselves into creatures built out of mythemes and the working of nanoscopic machine-demons. They had poisoned the walls of reality itself, until Mictlan had bubbled up into existence on its far side, a cyst of galled space-time cut off from the time winds. It was their glorious world of the dead.”
― Simon Bucher-Jones, Doctor Who: The Taking of Planet 5