Vincent: It seems to me there's so much more to the world then the average eye is allowed to see. I believe, if you look hard, there are more wonders in this universe then you could ever have dreamed of.
The Doctor: You don't have to tell me.
Amy: I'm sorry you're so sad.
Vincent: I'm not. These moods torment me for weeks, for months, but I'm good now. If Amy Pond can soldier on, then so can Vincent Van Gogh.
Amy: I'm not "soldiering on." I'm fine.
Vincent: Oh, Amy. I hear the song of your sadness. You've lost someone, I think.
Amy: I'm not sad.
Vincent: Then why are you crying? It's all right. I understand.
Amy: I'm not sure I do.
Amy: You do have a plan, don't you?
The Doctor: No, I have a thing. It's like a plan, but with more greatness.
The Doctor: I remember watching Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel. Wow, what a whinger! I kept saying to him "Look, if you're scared of heights, you shouldn't have taken the job then." And Picasso, what a ghastly old goat! I kept telling him, "Concentrate, Pablo. It's one eye, either side of the face."
The Doctor: Is this how time normally passes – really slowly, in the right order? If there's one thing I can't stand, it's an unpunctual alien attack.
Vincent: But you're not armed.
The Doctor: I am.
Vincent: What with?
The Doctor: Overconfidence, this, and a small screwdriver. I'm absolutely sorted.
The Doctor: Amy, only one thought. One simple instruction: Don't follow me under any circumstances.
Amy: I won't
(the Doctor enters the church)
Vincent: Will you follow him?
Amy: Of course.
Vincent: I love you.
Vincent: Hold my hand, Doctor. Try to see what I see. We're so lucky we're still alive to see this beautiful world. Look at the sky. It's not dark and black, without character. The black is in fact deep blue. And over there, lighter blue. And blue and through the blueness and the blackness, the wind swirling through the air. And then shining, burning, bursting through through the stars. And you see how they throw their light. Everywhere we look, complex magic of nature blazes before our eyes.
The Doctor: I've seen many things, my friend, but you're right. Nothing... quite as wonderful as the things you see.
Vincent: (seeing the TARDIS interior) How come I'm the crazy one, and you two have stayed both sane?
The Doctor: Between you and me, in a hundred words, where do you think Van Gogh rates in the history of art?
Dr. Black: Well... um... big question, but, to me Van Gogh is the finest painter in the world. Certainly the most popular, great painter of all time. The most beloved, his command of color most magnificent. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray, but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world, no one had ever done it before. Perhaps no one ever will again. To my mind, that strange, wild man who roamed the fields of Provence was not only the world's greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived.
Amy: We didn't make a difference at all.
The Doctor: I wouldn't say that. The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. Hey. (hugs her) The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.
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