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Cat: Got it! Unicycle Polo! We could have a quick chucker on floor 14!
Lister: It's smegging stupid! Two grown men on unicycles, belting a beach ball up and down the corridor, with french loaves! It's pathetic. It's idiotic. It's, it's, it's puerile!
Cat: Well, you invented it!

Rimmer: That's Nuremberg! That's Adolf Hitler. He was leader of the runners-up in World War II.
Kryten: I cut the photograph out of one of your magazines.
Rimmer: Which magazine was that?
Kryten: Fascist Dictator Monthly. He was Mr. October.
Lister, to the crowd: Ignore him! He's a complete and total nutter! And he's only got one testicle!

Kryten, reading Hitler's diary: I'll switch to translation mode. "Things to remember: Stop milk, pay papers, invade Czechoslovakia."

Lister: Yes! I don't believe this. We've got ourselves a smeggin' time machine!
Rimmer: So we can go anywhere we want, absolutely anywhere?
Kryten: Providing we have a photograph of it.
Rimmer: So if one of us had, say, a photograph of a female-only naturist beach in Acapulco full of bronzed, naked, uninhibited teenage temptresses, we could go there for a holiday?
Kryten: I suppose.
Rimmer: Kryten, get my photo album.

Kryten: We could go back to Dallas, in November 1963, stand on the grassy knoll and shout "Duck!" ... Oh, I'm sorry, I must have bypassed my Good Taste chip.

Cat: Look at that collar! You could go hang-gliding!

Kryten, doing his Data impression: A "pub"? Ah yes, a meeting place where people attempt to achieve advanced states of mental incompetence by the repeated consumption of fermented vegetable drinks.

Cat: Oh, give up! The guy's an idiot!
Lister: He's me!
Cat: Exactly!

Holly: Tension sheet, Inventor of: Dave Lister, aged 17.
Rimmer: Damn!
Holly: And he died tragically in a plane crash, aged 98.
Rimmer: Ninety-eight?!
Holly: His own fault, apparently. He was making love to his fourteenth wife and he lost control of the plane.
Rimmer: Have you got any photographs?
Holly: Not of that, no!

Hostess of "Lifestyles of the Disgustingly Rich and Famous: Dave has musical aspirations of his own. Only last year his first single, "Om", shot to number one when he personally purchased three million copies. You'll never be short of an ashtray in his house. Like many people who appear to have everything, Dave's life has been tinged with tragedy. Well, actually it hasn't, but we can only hope.

Rimmer: You call this happiness? Surrounded by toadying lackeys and paid sycophants? Living with a love-goddess sex-bomb model megastar? You call this contentment? You know, I stand here now and I look at the two of us, and I ask one simple question: Who is the rich man? You, with your fifty-eight houses, your private island in the Bahamas, your multi-billion pound business empire, or me, with... with... with what I've got. (A pause) It's you, isn't it? Yes, it's all very clear to me now. You - richer and happier.
Gilbert: This way, sir.
Rimmer: I should have thought a bit harder about that speech, really. I cocked it up a bit, didn't I?

Rimmer: Why does nothing ever go right for me? Every time i get so much as a snifter of a break, a glimpse of a shadow of happiness, something inexplicably cruel and horrible happens and it all blows up in my face.
Holly: Hang on a mo', something is different. Don't ask me why, but somehow you're no longer a hologram. You're alive!
Rimmer: What? (He checks) I'm alive! I'm alive! Kryten, unpack Rachel and get out the puncture repair kit! I'm alive!

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