I inadvertently reversed evolution several million years...

There's an old cat saying that has particular relevance here, and it goes like this: We are all gonna die!

HOLLY: It takes time, this. One slight error in any of my thirteen billion calculations and we'll be blasted to smithereens. Here we go, then: 10, 9, 8, 6, 5--
RIMMER: You missed out the seven.
HOLLY: Did I? I've always had a bit of a blind spot with sevens.
RIMMER: We're going to die.

CAT: Wait, I know this game. It's called cat and mouse, and there's only one way to win; don't be the mouse.
LISTER: What are you saying?
CAT: I'm saying, the mouse never wins. Not unless you believe those lying cartoons. We don't run, we strike. It's the last thing they'll be expecting.
RIMMER: No, the last thing they'll be expecting is for us to turn into ice skating mongooses and to dance the Bolero. And your plan makes about as much sense.
LISTER: I say go with it.
KRYTEN: Agreed.
CAT: You're going to go with one of my plans? Are you nuts? What happens if we all get killed? I'll never hear the last of it!

LISTER: I dunno though. This wooden horse of Troy malarkey, I'm not buyin' that.
RIMMER: It's one of the most famous military maneuvers in history!
LISTER: I mean, the Greeks have been camped outside Troy, kerpowing, zapping, and kersplatting the Trojans for the best part of a decade, yeah?
RIMMER: So?
LISTER: So all of a sudden they wake up one mornin' and the Greeks have gone. And there outside the city walls they've left this gift; this tribute to their valiant foes: a huge wooden horse, just large enough to happily contain 500 Greeks in full battle dress and still leave adequate room for toilet facilities? Are you telling me not one Trojan goes, "Hang on a minute, that's a bit of a funny prezzy. What's wrong with a couple hundred pairs of socks and some aftershave?" No, they don't -- they just wheel it in and all decide to go for an early night! People that stupid deserve to be kerpowed, zapped and kersplatted in their beds! You know what the big joke is? From this particular phase in history we derive the phrase, "Beware of Greeks bearing gifts," when it would be much more logical to derive the phrase, "Beware of Trojans, they're complete smegheads!"
RIMMER: Well, thank you, A.J.P. Taylor.

Sir, I am programmed to relinquish my life. That's why the Mechanoid 4000 series was voted "Android of the Year" five years running! I have as much interest in saving my own life as a chronically-depressed lemming.

LISTER: What about Arnie's army?
CAT: Yeah, how many of them made it back?
RIMMER: There are always casualties in war, gentlemen. Otherwise it wouldn't be war, just be a rather nasty argument with a lot of pushing and shoving.
LISTER: So how many survived?
RIMMER: Well we haven't had time to make a full official estimate, but at a rough guess, and obviously this is subject to alteration pending information updates, roundabout none of them.
LISTER: So you wiped out the entire population of this planet.
RIMMER: You make it sound so negative, Lister. Don't you see, the deranged menace that once threatened this world is vanquished!
LISTER: No it isn't, pal. You're still here.
RIMMER: I brought about peace. Peace, freedom and democracy.
LISTER: Yeah, Rimmer. Right. Absolutely. Now all the corpses that litter that battlefield can just lie there safe under the knowledge that they snuffed it under a flag of peace and can now happily decompose in a land of freedom. Ya smeg head.
RIMMER: There really is no pleasing some people, is there?

RIMMER: Those kind of films really irritate me. Just not realistic. There isn't a man in the universe who wouldn't have taken the job and to hell with the woman. Total baloney.
LISTER: Rimmer, you said that about "King of Kings -- the story of Jesus!"
RIMMER: Well, it's true! A simple carpenter's son who learns how to do magic tricks like that and doesn't go into show-business? Do any of us believe that, even for a second?
LISTER: He was supposed to be the Son of God.
RIMMER: And when he was carrying that cross up the hill, any normal realistic bloke would have mule-kicked the guy on the left, clobbered the one on the right, and been over that green hill and far away before you could say "Pontius Pilate."
LISTER: Why do I feel that somehow you've missed the point?

CAT: What? Am I the only sane one here? Why don't we drop the defensive shields?
KRYTEN: A superlative suggestion, sir, with just two minor flaws. One, we don't have any defensive shields, and two, we don't have any defensive shields. Now I realise that, technically speaking, that's only one flaw but I thought it was such a big one it was worth mentioning twice.

KRYTEN: They've taken Mr. Rimmer. Sir! They've taken Mr. Rimmer!
CAT: Quick, let's get out of here before they bring him back!

KRYTEN: What you're suggesting is immoral and illegal. Mind patching is outlawed.
RIMMER: But it _is_ possible.
KRYTEN: Possible but highly dangerous. The side effects can be devastating. You could be reduced to a gibbering simpleton.
CAT: Reduced?

Rimmer, they're a bunch of arrogant, pompous, emotionally-weird, stuck-up megalomaniacs. Do you really think you're going to fit in with them? (Pause) What am I saying? Bon voyage!

Look, I'm not much good at big speeches, and I know I haven't always been an easy guy to get on with. And I know that, given the choice, I probably wouldn't have chosen you as friends. But, I just want to say ... that over the years, ... I have come to regard you ... as ... people ... I met.

Is Cat a drag queen?

THIS is my shiny thing. And if you try and take it off me I may have to eat you.

LISTER: The red, green, and blue alert signs are all flashing! What the smeg is happening?
KRYTEN: Well, either we're under attack, sir, or we're having a disco.

ACE: All the better for seeing you, Cat old friend. Is that a new suit you're wearing? Why, it's sharper than a page of Oscar Wilde witticisms that have been rolled up into a point, sprinkled with lemon juice and jabbed into someone's eye.
CAT: Wow, that's sharp. Thanks buddy!

KRYTEN: So, what have you been up to, sir?
ACE: Nothing special. Saved a couple of universes, overthrown a few dictatorships, turned down a heapful of marriage proposals, and had my highlights done.

LISTER: But Rimmer, he asked for you. He obviously feels some sort of bond.
RIMMER: The only 'bonding' I want to do with him involves a tube of superglue and a rabid hamster!

The universe needs a chap to look up to. Someone to right wrongs, just generally be brave, handsome and all-round magnificent.

ACE: It's part of the legend, I'm not the first Ace, not even the second. There have been, well, let's just say 'more than a couple'. As one Ace dies, he recruits his replacement from a parallel dimension; we all start off as caterpillars and turn into butterflies.
LISTER: We're talking about a man who, at the first sight of danger, cowers under tables with a colander on his head.
ACE: Skipper, you can't judge a book by its cover.
LISTER: And you can't confuse Rimmer with a book; for a start a book's got a spine.

KRYTEN: Ah, I was just wondering, sir: we've run out of bacofoil about six months ago; I don't suppose you have a spare jacket I might roast a chicken in?

We have lost the finest, the most dedicated vending machine repair man the Space Corps - no, no - the *universe* has ever known. No one ever pressed for a Coke, and got oxtail soup and orange juice by mistake on *his* shift - well, actually, that's not true: we all did but what the smeg, this is his eulogy.

KOCHANSKI: Have you ever listened to those clapped-out old pipes? 'Nureek'ing and 'retut'ing, and just when you expect them to 'nureek' again, they 'squrlookal'! It's enough to make a perfectly sane person crazy!!!
KRYTEN: It's quite amazing, the number of people those pipes have driven to the very brink of psychosis. Mr Lister spent the night in there once, and he ended up trying to suffocate himself to death with an onion sandwich.

KRYTEN: What about the way you look at him?
KOCHANSKI: What way?
KRYTEN: I've seen the way!
KOCHANSKI: *What way*?
KRYTEN: Like he's a pot of cottage cheese with pineapple chunks in!
KOCHANSKI: (aghast) How could you say that..? I have *never* looked at him like he's a pot of cottage cheese with pineapple chunks in! Maybe, once or twice, plain cottage cheese, but never, *ever*, with pineapple chunks in! Never. Never! [beat] Have I??

LISTER: Computer senility. Such a weird condition.
KRYTEN: I know. I had a mechanoid friend once who suffered from the same affliction. His name was Gilbert, but he preferred it if people called him "Rameses Niblick the Third, Kerplunk Kerplunk, Whoops, Where's My Thribble." A sad case.

KRYTEN: But the entire ship is running on emergency battery power only. With the oxygen recycler and minimal heating and lighting, I estimate that Lister and the Cat have approximately two months left. Without your drain on the power, they might last six. I'm sorry, Sir.
RIMMER: Sorry? Why are you sorry?
KRYTEN: Well, Space Corps Directive 195 clearly states that in an emergency power situation, a hologrammatic crewmember must lay down his life in order that the living crewmembers might survive.
RIMMER: Yes, but Rimmer Directive 271 states just as clearly, "No chance you metal bastard."
CAT: Come on, man, you gotta sacrifice your life! I'm not asking you to do anything *I* wouldn't do!
RIMMER: YOU? You'd sacrifice your life for the good of the crew?
CAT: No, I'd sacrifice YOUR life for the good of the crew.

Kryten: as anyone ever told you that the configuration and juxtaposition of your features is extraordinarily apposite?
CAMILLE: (Slapping him on the shoulder) You really know all the lines, don't you?
KRYTEN: No, I really mean it! The way the light catches the angles in your head: it's enchanting!

LISTER: I suppose you're gonna blame me for all of this, aren't you?
KRYTEN: Yes, I am. Without your lessons -- without your bananas and your movies and your aardvarks -- none of this could have happened. You're a complete and total smeghead.
LISTER: Brutal, Kryten! You just insulted me!
KRYTEN: Yes; I can lie, cheat, AND be offensive now.
LISTER: Kryten, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.

If you had two people coming for a job, and one of them was dead, which one would you pick?

We have 3 realistic alternatives: (1) Sit here and get blown up, (2) Stand here and get blown up, (3) Jump up and down, shout at me for not being able to think of anything, then get blown up.

RIMMER: No, not entirely useless. Think of the famous people we could meet, the famous places we could go.
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!

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. (Pause) It's you isn't it? Yes it's all very clear to me now. You -- richer and happier.

Rimmer: Since when were you interested in a trouser press? You care less about your appearance than a member of the Dutch royal family.
Lister: No, I was thinking: if we got moved to a cell with a trouser press, we could make cheese toasties.

Lister: There's got to be a way out. There hasn't been a prison built that could hold Derek Custer. Why don't we scrape away this mortar here, slide one of these bricks out, then using a rope weaved from strands of this hessian, rip up a kind of a pulley system so that when a guard comes in, using it as a trip wire, gets laid out, and we put Rimmer in the guard's uniform, he leads us out, we steal some swords, and fight our way back to the 'bug.'
Kryten: Or we could use the teleporter.

Rimmer: So, Kryten, you've heard of this 'Inquisitor?'
Kryten: Only as a myth; a dark fable; a horror tale, told across the flickering embers of a midnight fire, wherever hardened space dogs gather to drink fermented vegetable products and compete in tales of blood-chilling terror!
Rimmer: A simple 'yes' would have sufficed

Lister: Can I ask you a question? Now that I've got no arm... does it - does it make any difference to anything? I mean, if you were a female pit bull terrier, how would you feel about a three-legged -- Does it make any difference to... well, plucking any old relationship out of the air, us?
Kochanski: Dave, before you lost your arm, I thought you were a no-good, disgusting bum. And I still do. So, no, none at all.

Kochanski: So, they took Red Dwarf, made a sub-atomic version, and turned the rest of the atoms into a planetoid for safekeeping? Cat: Well what was it we spent months chasing? What was producing that vapour trail?
Kryten: Red Dwarf.
Cat: Did someone just turn over two pages at once?

The little scamps! It's the oldest trick in the book: capture your ship, turn it into a planet, then explore a macro universe in a laundry basket. How could you fall for an old scam like that?

Lister: What about Kristine Kochanski? You could have brought Kristine back.
Holly: In your entire life, your shared conversations with her totalled 173 words.
Lister: So?
Holly: In terms of wordage, you actually had a better relationship with your rubber plant.
Lister: I know, but *Rimmer*?!
Holly: He's the person you knew best. Over 14 million words in all.
Lister: Holly, 7 million of those were me telling him to smeg off, and the other 7 million were him putting me on report for telling him to smeg off.

Our biggest enemy is going space crazy through loneliness. The only thing that helps me maintain my slender grip on reality is the friendship I share with my collection of singing potatoes.

Welcome to Xpress Lifts, descent to floor sixteen. You will be going down two thousand, five hundred and sixty-seven floors and, for a small extra charge, you can enjoy the in-lift movie "Gone With the Wind." If you look to your right and to your left, you will notice there are no exits. In the highly unlikely event of the lift having to make a crash-landing, death is certain. Under your seats you will find a cassette for recording your last-minute testament, and from above your head a bag will drop containing sedatives and cyanide capsules.

LISTER: Hey, it hasn't happened, has it? It has "will have going to have happened" happened, but it hasn't actually "happened" happened yet, actually.
RIMMER: Poppycock! It will be happened; it shall be going to be happening; it will be was an event that could will have been taken place in the future. Simple as that. Your bucket's been kicked, baby.

Lister: Drop dead, Rimmer.
Rimmer: Already have done.
Lister: Encore!

Good evening. Here is the news on Friday, the 27th of Geldof. Archeologists near mount Sinai have discovered what is believed to be a missing page from the Bible. The page is currently being carbon dated in Bonn. If genuine it belongs at the beginning of the Bible and is believed to read "To my darling Candy. All characters portrayed within this book are fictitous and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental." The page has been universally condemned by church leaders.

Oh, it's you! Hey, monkey, you're sick. Sick, helpless, and unconscious. If you weren't my friend, I'd steal your shoes.

::Looking at the medicomp:: That's odd, Lister. According to this reading, you're clinically dead.

Lister: Look, ever since that refrigeration unit packed in we've had to live off a few pathetic handfuls of moss and fungi scraped off passing asteroids. I can't stand it any more.
Kryten: Well sir, are you really saying you'd rather have a psychopathic mechanical killer rip off your skull and play your frontal nodes like a xylophone than have another bowl of my nourishing space nettle soup?
Cat: Buddy, I'd hand him the sticks and hold up the sheet music.

Kryten: At least let me and Mister Rimmer go in your place. We are after all merely electronic life forms and therefore expendable.
Rimmer: And what the smeg would you know, bog-bot from hell?

Cat: If one of those suckers bumps into me, he'll be lunching on laser, (Arms bazookoid) Last time we met I was wearing the same outfit, and no-one's gonna survive to tell that story.

Rimmer: Why didn't you tell us?
Lister: Didn't wanna cause any panic.
Rimmer: You didn't want to cause any p.. ::Hyperventilates, then slowly recovers:: Let me get this clear in my head. If we meet one of these totally deranged killing machines, we have to engage them in combat silently? What do we do, whisper "charge", tippytoe up to them all screaming "shhh" and chloroform them with Lister's armpits? Priceless.

That was an important speech sir, and it needed to be made, but might I suggest that from this moment the rest of the discourse is conducted by those with brains larger than a grape.

Cat: What's this?
Kryten: Don't you remember sir? This is a week last Thursday. In the panic I must have made a programming error.
Past Kryten: For goodness sake Kryten! Don't you know how rude it is to burst in on an earlier version of yourself without warning? You've made our day totally surreal now. I'm very cross!

Cat: All in all, a hundred percent successful trip.
Kryten: Sir, we lost Mister Rimmer!
Cat: All in all, a hundred percent successful trip.

One last word sir, remember your condition.Whatever happens, try and avoid stressful situations. Whatever befalls you, try and greet it with a smile on your lips and a song in your heart.

This is the personal log of Space Corps hard-light hologram Arnold J. Rimmer. Day 1: After landing, I ventured forth to explore the place I would be calling home for the next two thirds of a millennium. A desert planet, the only life forms the most basic single-celled protozoa, and me.

Lister: Rimmer? It's us.
'Rimmer' Emperor: Dear lord, what created such foulness. Is it the product of a marriage twixt woman and gerbil?

We're getting nowhere, bud. He won't throw anything away because it reminds him of the good times he had with Rimmer! I must have blinked and missed them.

Kochanski: Did he have *any* redeeming features?
Lister: No. Oh yeah, sometimes he went out of the room.

Rimmer: Didn't I tell you you'd never bridge that class division? Take her: navigation officer, cadet school, Space Corps., well-spoken, can stay awake during operas, knows her cheeses. She's class. And you? What are you? I don't mean to sound cruel but in comparison you're scum. And second-rate scum, at that.
Lister: I used to be fourth-rate scum - I've dragged meself up by my bootsraps, bub.

Rimmer, people who say 'har har' have no sense of humour, they just can't think of a witty retort.

Kryten: I'm gong to end up on my own again, just like I did on the Nova 5!
Lister: You killed the crew, Kryten!

Kochanski: I've got a positive trans-dimensional trace but I still can't re-establish the linkway. I'm sure it's something to do with electromagnetic phasing frequencies.
Cat: You took the words right out of my mouth!
Kryten: Have you tried inverting the signal?
Kochanski: We'll need a power re-route in the auxiliary power drives.
Cat: I'll take care of that! ... Whatever it is.
Kryten: It's the, er, big red button, there, sir.

Kryten: Well, you're not good enough for him! That's all. Okay, he may walk around smelling like a Balti house laundry basket, but he doesn't need the likes of you swapping dimensions like there's no tomorrow, and bewitching him with all your... in-and-out bits. All pointy and unnecessary!
Kochanski: [beat] You've got big problems, you know that, don't you?

Lister: Ouroboros... It wasn't 'Our Rob or Ross', it was Ouroboros..!
Cat: What was?
Lister: The message that was written on the side of my box!
Cat: You came in a box? That explains everything.

Lister: Yeah, but surely we can use the Time Drive if we're careful? You know, if we don't abuse it the way our future selves did? You know, if we're sensible and mature.
Rimmer: And do what?
Lister: Go back in time to an Indian take-away and order 500 curries.
Kryten: Sir, the scheme is irresponsible, moronic, and preposterous!
Cat: All your hallmarks, bud!

Rimmer: We can't afford to take any more chances. I say the Time Drive stays where it is.
Cat: You know I'd rather wear sideways-pressed flares and a clip-on polyester tie than agree with goalpost head, but this time he's right.

It seemed to me that if humanoids eat chicken then obviously they'd eat their own species; otherwise they'd just be picking on the chicken.

Our biggest enemy is going space crazy through loneliness. The only thing that helps me maintain my slender grip on reality is the friendship I share with my collection of singing potatoes.

Why don't you smegging-well smeg off, you annoying little smeggy smegging smegger!