The Doctor: Well, look at me. I'm old, lacking in vigor, my mind's in a turmoil. I no longer know if I'm coming, have gone, or even been. I'm falling to pieces; I no longer even have any clothes sense. Self-pity is all I have left.

The Doctor: Having failed to freeze us to death, it's now trying to bake us! It appears to be a machine with a distinctly limited repertoire.