Some days are special. Some days are so, so blessed. Some days, nobody dies at all.
Now and then, every once in a very long while, every day in a million days, when the wind stands fair and the Doctor comes to call…everybody lives.
“…I have a new destination. My journey is the same as yours, the same as anyone’s. It’s taken me so many years, so many lifetimes, but at last I know where I’m going. Where I’ve always been going. Home. The long way around”
Clara: I mean, one minute you are in 1974, looking for ghosts, but all you have to do is open your eyes and talk to whoever is standing there. To you, I have not been born yet, and to you I’ve been dead a hundred billion years. Is my body out there somewhere? In the ground?
The Doctor: …Yes, I suppose is it.
Clara: But here we are, talking. So I am a ghost. To you, I am a ghost. We are all ghosts to you. We must be nothing.