Sarah Jane Smith: Oh, I must be mad. I’m sick of being cold and wet, and hypnotised left right and centre. I’m sick of being shot at, savaged by bug-eyed monsters, never knowing if I’m coming or going or been.
The Doctor: But look at me. I’m old, lacking in vigour. My mind’s in a turmoil. I no longer know if I’m coming, have gone or have even been. I’m falling to pieces.