“Jane Austen thought I’d fancy you.”

“Well, yeah. And what’s so wrong with that? You’re sharp, quick-witted, lively. Not unlike an Austen heroine, in fact. It’d only make sense that you’d fall for my sort. Me and Mr. Darcy, we’ve got a few things in common.”

“What’s that?” Donna demands, words popping indignantly off her tongue. “Emotional retardation? A raging superiority complex? Come to think it, yeah, I can see the resemblance. Only difference is, he’s the most charming man in the whole history of literature, and you’re a walking, talking twig with a couple of hearts and a spaceship.”

It was nice, the Doctor thought, their silly fake love affair.

The TARDIS had outgrown its jam jar and had been transferred to a casserole dish. This was more hygienic than it sounded because Rose had never cooked a casserole in her life. The dish had been an overly optimistic gift from Jackie.

"Put that sense of adventure to good use."

It comes as something of a shock when she throws the shoe at his head.