Madame Vastra: According to my research, Sweetville's proprietor holds recruitment trials for her little community. She's only interested in the fittest and the most beautiful.
Strax: You may rely on me, ma'am.
Madame Vastra: I was in fact speaking to Jenny.
Strax: Jenny? If this weak and fleshy boy is to represent us, I strongly advise the issuing of scissor grenades, limbo vapor, and triple-blast brain splitters.
Madame Vastra: What for?
Strax: Just generally. Remember, we are going... to the North.
Madame Vastra: If our stratagem succeeds, Jenny will infiltrate deep into the black heart of this curious place.
Strax: And how will she locate the Doctor?
Madame Vastra: To find him she needs only ignore all keep out signs, go through every locked door, and run towards any form of danger that presents itself.
Strax: Business as usual, then?
Madame Vastra: Business as usual.
Madame Vastra: I wonder how Jenny is getting on.
Strax: If she hasn’t made contact by nightfall, I suggest a massive frontal attack on the factory, Madam. Casualties can be kept to perhaps as little as eighty percent.
Madame Vastra: I think there might be subtler ways of proceeding, Strax.
Strax: Suit yourself.
The Doctor: Just when you think your favorite lock-picking Victorian chambermaid will never turn up. Jenny! (he kisses her, she slaps him) You have no idea how good that feels.
The Doctor: Ooh, I once spent helluva long time trying to get a gobby Australian to Heathrow Airport.
Clara: What for?
The Doctor: Search me.
Strax: Horse! You have failed in your mission! We are lost with no sign of Sweetville. Do you have any final words before your summary execution? (the horse snorts) The usual story! Fourth one this week… and I’m not even hungry.
The Doctor: Oh, great, great. Attack of the supermodels.
Madame Vastra: Strax, you’re overexcited. Have you been eating those jelly sherbet fancies again?
Madame Vastra: Go outside and wait for me until I call for you.
Strax: But Madam...
Madame Vastra: Go!
Strax: I’m gonna go play with my grenades.
The Doctor: Ooh, The Repulsive Red Leech! Now on balance I think I prefer The Crimson Horror.
Clara: A chimney that doesn’t blow smoke.
The Doctor: Clever clocks.
Clara: Miss me?
The Doctor: Yeah, lots.
Mrs Gillyflower: Oh, ho ho ho. You do seem to keep turning up like a bad penny, young man.
The Doctor: Force of habit.
The Doctor: I’m the Doctor, you’re nuts, and I’m gonna stop you.
Mrs Gillyflower: I'm afraid Mr. Sweet and I cannot allow that.
The Doctor: Ah, yes. Would it be impolite to ask why you and Mr. Sweet are petrifying your workforce with diluted prehistoric leech venom?
The Doctor: Mrs. Gillyflower, you have no idea what you’re dealing with. In the wrong hands that venom could wipe out all life on this planet.
Mrs. Gillyflower: Do you know what these are? The wrong hands!
The Doctor: Hang on, hang on. I’ve got a sonic screwdriver.
Clara: Yeah? I’ve got a chair!
The Doctor: Yeah. That worked.
The Doctor: You’re the boss.
Clara: Am I?
The Doctor: No. No, get in.
Clara: No, that’s just someone who looks like me.
Angie: And that’s someone who looks like your boyfriend.
Artie: Is he an alien?
Angie: Why would he be an alien?
Artie: The chin!
Angie: And the time travel?