No Place Like Home

B=Buffy, G=Giles, X=Xander, W=Willow, R=Riley, S=Spike, A=Anya, D=Dawn

Vamp: I've always wanted to kill the Slayer.
B: And I've always wanted piano lessons. Really, who's surprised we have all this unexpressed rage? But honestly, I think I'm expressing mine better. Tell you what... you find yourself a good anger management class, and I'll jam this pokey wood stick through your heart. < dusts vamp > I think that sets the world speed record for closure.

Guard: Miss, if you're looking for one of those rave parties, I'm afraid you're late. I chased a bunch of kids out of here last night.
B: Oh. Right. Yeah. Darn. My fellow ravers will be so disappointed. It was my turn to bring the bundt cake.

Guard: What is that thing?
B: I'll let you know as soon as I find out.

B: Dawn, touch nothing.
D: Who died and made you the Iron Chef?

J: So neither of you's pregnant, failing, or under indictment? Just checking.

J: The headaches they said would go away came back and brought some friends along with.

B: So they don't know what's wrong?
J: Well, not yet.
B: Well, that's unacceptable. I think we should get a second opinion.
J: Well, we need a first opinion first, honey.

J: I get to worry about you two, which is a good thing, because you're a vampire Slayer. And you, you are my little punkin' belly.
D: Mom, that's, like, my kid name.
J: So, I can't be retro?
B: Did you ever have any names for me?
J: No, I think you were always just Buffy.
D: I got some names for ya.

J: Bring me back a... I don't know, a flying broomstick, or something.
D: Those never really work.
J: Whatever.

D: This place is so... wow. I mean, check out all the magic junk.
G: Our new slogan.

D: You break it, you bought it. Heard you the first sixty times.

G: Think about it. Sunnydale. Monsters. Supply and demand. They'll be lining up around the block in no time.
B: Yeah, you'll be making money hand over fist. Which I guess is a good thing...

G: It appears to be paranormal in origin.
W: How can you tell?
G: Well, it's so shiny.

D: You can't patrol. Buffy said.
B: No, I didn't.
D: Yeah, remember? You said it'd be easier if you didn't have to look out for anybody?
B: Well, I wasn't talking about Riley.
R: Don't worry about it.
D: Oh, she just said you look even cuter when you're all weak and kitten-y, and she'd better go solo, or you'd get hurt.

W: I just have all this involuntary empathy for Dawn. 'Cause she's, you know, a big spaz.

D: We can't all be born with big, fancy, chosen-one reflexes, you know.

Ben: Not to be rampantly sexist in the workplace, but you got some serious muscles for a girl.
B: I, um...
Ben: Radioactive spider bite.
B: How'd you guess?

G: Did you see that? Customers, real live customers. They came in, and I gave them things, and they gave me money, and then they left! It's brilliant!

W: Congratulations. You're an official capitalist running dog.

A: I'm nearly out of money. I've never had to afford things before and it's making me bitter.
G: The change is palpable.

B: We need to find out who's making my mom sick, and now.
W: Then what?
B: Then I hunt them... find them... and kill them.

Beast: You know, when you think about it, I'm the victim here. First off -- I don't even want to be here. And I'm not talking about this room or this city or this state or this planet. I'm talking about the whole mortal coil now, you know? It's disgusting. The food. The clothes. The people. I could crap a better existence than this.

Beast: Forgive me... monk-y. sometimes I get so anxious, like there's something deep inside of me, and it's swelling up and it's making me crazy, that I forget there's all that duct tape on your face.

Beast: Tell me where the key is, or I'm going bowling.

Beast: The stutter's sexy, keep it coming.

Beast: Not now! Mommy's talking.

G: There's too many of them -- people. And they all seem to want things.
X: I hear ya. Stay British. You'll be okay.

X: The thousand-yard stare. Damn, you hate to see it on any man, but especially in retail.

A: Please go.
X: Anya, the Shopkeepers Union of America called. They want me to tell you that "Please go" just got replaced with "Have a nice day."
A: But I have their money. Who cares what kind of day they have?
X: No one. It's just a long cultural tradition of raging insincerity. Embrace it.
A: Hey, you! Have a nice day.
X: There's my girl!

X: Did you ever think in a million years you'd miss the high school library?

W: Does this look right to you?
A: Sure, if you wrapped it with your feet.

R: So, what do I do?
B: Lots. Tons. Lots and lots of tons.

R: So you need me to light incense and pour sand?
B: Magic incense. And.. and spooky sand.

R: Are you sure this isn't just your way of trying to make me feel less... what are the words... cute and weak and kittenish?
B: Kitten-y.
R: Right. Much manlier.

D: What are you doing?
B: My boyfriend. Go away.

D: Oh, come on! Please! Please, like, times ten, and cubed! Please?

B: Don't take this the wrong way, but... < punches Spike in the nose > ...what are you doing here? Five words or less.
S: Out. For. A. Walk.... Bitch.

S: You know, contrary to one's self-involved world-view, your house happens to be directly between... parts... and other parts of this town. And I would pass by in the day, but I feel I'm outgrowing my whole "burst into flame" phase.

S: The whole crowd-pleasing "threats and swagger" routine. How stunningly original. You know, I'm just passing through. Satisfied? You know, I really hope so, 'cause god knows you need some satisfaction in life, besides shagging Captain Cardboard, and... and I never really liked you, anyway, and -- and you have stupid hair.

B: Best of all... I'm not stupid.

Beast: You sure about that last part?

G: Would someone please rip that bloody bell off its hinges?
X: Would that involve moving?
W: My feet are numb.
X: I'll see your numbness and I'll raise you a lower back pain.
G: I think I liked it better when demons would just crash in here and tear the place apart. It just seemed so much simpler.
A: You're out of crystal balls. Those babies are really popular with the amateurs. Better restock and raise the price 10%. Make it 15%.
G: Anya...
A: Your cash register looks like squirrels nest in it.
G: Anya...
A: And the Hand of Glory packs some serious raw power. Better institute a seven-day background check--
G: Anya! Would you like a job?
A: Okay.
G: Good.

X: You're not worried about the Slaymaster General, are you, Big G?
G: No, no. Just hope she doesn't do anything too rash.

Beast: I just want you to know -- this whole "beat you to death" thing I'm doing is valuable time out of my life that I'm never going to get back.

Beast: Wait, I've always wanted to try this. You know that thing with worms, where if you have one, and you rip it in half, you get two worms? Do you think that'll work with you?

Beast: Hey, hands off my holy man!

Beast: Oh, sh--

Monk: My journey's done, I think.
B: Don't get metaphor-y on me.

D: I tell you I have this theory? It goes where you're the one who's not my sister, 'cause Mom adopted you from a shoebox full of baby howler monkeys, and never told you 'cause it could hurt your delicate baby feelings.
B: That's your theory?
D: Explains your fashion sense. And smell.

B: I just had a bad day.
D: Well, join the club.
B: Can I be president?
D: I'm president. You could be the janitor.

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