The writing... the graffiti: Old High Gallifreyan. The lost language of the Time Lords. There were days, there were many days, where these words could burn stars, raise up empires, and topple gods.
A Weeping Angel, Amy, is the deadliest, most powerful, most malevolent life form evolution has ever produced, and right now one of them is trapped inside that wreckage and I'm supposed to climb in after it with a screwdriver and a torch, and assuming I survive the radiation long enough and assuming the whole ship doesn't explode in my face, do something incredibly clever which I haven't actually thought of yet. That's my day, that's what I'm up to. Any questions?
Is River Song your wife? Because she's someone from your future, and the way she talks to you, I've never seen anyone do that. She's kind of like, you know, "Heel, boy!" She's Mrs. Doctor from the future, isn't she? Is she going to be your wife one day?
No, it's not a legend, it's a quantum lock. In the sight of any living being, the Angels literally cease to exist. They're just stone: the ultimate defense mechanism.
Well then... the Angels have made their second mistake, because I'm not going to let that pass. I'm sorry you're dead, Bob, but I swear to whatever is left of you, they will be sorrier.
Oh, big, big mistake, really huge. Didn't anyone ever tell you? There's one thing you never put in a trap. If you're smart, if you value your continued existence, if you have any plans about seeing tomorrow, there's one thing you never, ever put in a trap.