The future came and went in the mildly discouraging way that futures do. - Neil Gaiman

Every hour wounds. The last one kills.

The Doctor: Sorry, do you have a name?
Idris: Seven hundred years and finally he asks.
The Doctor: But what do I call you?
Idris: I think you call me... Sexy?
The Doctor: [embarrassed] Only when we're alone.
Idris: We are alone.
The Doctor: Oh. Come on then, Sexy.

And he still thinks, in the little bit of his head that's still him, that he's not a zombie. That he's not dead, that there's a threshold he hasn't stepped over. But he crossed it long time ago.