B=Buffy, X=Xander, W=Willow, A=Anya, D=Dawn, S=Spike
C=Cassie, M=Mike, P=Principal Robin Wood

D: I think this thing has a freaking child-lock on it.
B: Shhh!
D: You know, I'm not the shortest one here. I don't know why I had to be in the kid coffin.

B: Been kind of stressed myself.
D: Well, the whole Willow sitch is not unstressifying. I mean, she's here, but not "part of the gang" here, and hopefully not "under my feet here in another time dimension" here.

B: There's Willow, there's the looming humungo bad, and it's a school night. I should be home in bed, cuddling up to my insomnia and worrying about how I'm gonna mess up tomorrow.

B: What if their problems are weird and tricky?
X: I think you underestimate your familiarity with the world of weird and tricky.

B: Check out perfect me. Taking my sister on an educational outing to the...
D: Dead body.

X: Maybe she cut herself shaving and then died naturally of embarrassment.

D: She looks peaceful.
Vamp: I am NOT peaceful.
B: That I can help with.

X: "From beneath you, it devours." It's not the friendliest jingle, is it? It's no "I like Ike" or "Milk: it does a body good."

X: Figuring out how to control your magic seems a lot like hammering a nail. Well, hear me out. So, you're hammering, right? If you hold the end of the hammer, you have the power, but no control. It takes, like, two strokes to hit the nail in. Or you could hit your thumb. So you choke up. Control, but no power. You could take, like, ten strokes to knock the nail in. Power, control -- it's a trade off.

W: I'm less worried about hitting my thumb and more worried about going all black-eyed baddie and bewitching that hammer into cracking my friends' skulls open like coconuts.
X: Right. Ouch.

B: It sounds like it's difficult for you. Like maybe your sister makes it hard for you to establish your own identity. You said she's controlling, she doesn't let you make your own decisions.
D: Yeah. And she borrows my clothes without asking.

B: Okay, no foreign legion. I get that. I mean, all the changing your name, and being indentured for all those years, and occupying Algeria...

B: I don't usually get a heads-up before somebody dies.
PW: What do you mean, "usually"?
B: No... no, not since...

W: Maybe, just maybe, you're trying so hard to help that you're seeing paranormal where there's just normal.

X: Strep throat, ear infections, yeast infections, none of my business.

W: Have you Googled her yet?
X: Willow, she's 17!
W: It's a search engine.

X: Poems. Always a sign of pretentious inner turmoil.

D: We all deal with death.
X: This girl isn't just dealing, she's giving death a long, sloppy word kiss. She has a yen for the big dirt nap.

W: I even posted a melodramatic love poem or two back in the day.
X: Love poems?
W: I'm over you now, sweetie.
X: Love poems!

W: All I'm saying is that this is normal teen stuff. You join chat rooms, you write poetry, you post "Doogie Howser" fanfic. It's all normal, right?

C: I'd love to ice-skate at Rockefeller Center. And I'd love to see my cousins grow up and see how they turn out, 'cause they're really mean and I think they're gonna be fat.

PW: Well, thank god it's Friday. [pause] I can't believe I just said that.

B: Spike, what are you doing?
S: Nothing. If I don't move, if I don't think, if I don't listen to the voices, then I won't hurt... much.

S: There's evil. Down here. Right here. I'm a bad man. William is a bad man. I hurt the girl.

S: Don't leave me. Stay here and help me be quiet.
B: I think it's worse when I'm here.

M: She's a girl, right? Making boys crazy is, like, her job description.

B: Do you know why I came back to Sunnydale High?
Boy: To creep me out?

B: I know what it's like to walk these halls and feel lost, alone. I just want to make things better. Connect. [pause] And I'm going to connect with your face if you don't stop wasting my time and help me do my job.

Evil boy: We kneel before you with the gift of flesh.
B: Okay. THAT is going on your permanent record.

B: Do you know how lame this is? Bored teenage boys trying to raise up a demon? Sorry it didn't show. I bet it's 'cause you forgot the boombox playing some heavy metal thing like... Blue Clam Cult? I think that's the key to the raising of lame demons.
Evil boy: That lame demon?

B: Spike?
S: I'm here to help. No hurting the girl.

Evil boy: Who are you?
S: I'm a bad man.

C: She'll tell you. Some day she'll tell you.

B: See, you can make a difference.
C: And you will.

D: I guess sometimes you can't help.
B: So, what then? What do you do when you know that?

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