Wesley: Not to mention some bastard blown a gaping hole in the lift.
Angel: Sorry. My bastard.
Cordelia: You don't have a woman's touch - whatever your taste in clothing may indicate.
Wesley: Of course. And seeing as you once nearly had sex on my desk I shouldn't be surprised that now there is a baby on it.
Angel: Hey! First of all that wasn't me, that was some guy who switched bodies with me. And second of all can we keep the S-E-X talk away from the baby?
Fred: So, the baby's safe? We're all safe. Right, Lorne? I-I mean unless one of those killers decides to throw in a firebomb in at us like they did at your club, which had a similar safety spell around it as I recall. Sorry.
The Host: He doesn't like Smokey Robinson and the Miracles? I thought you said this kid had a soul.
The Host: I'm so glad somebody finally said that, because sitting here waiting to die never was much of a plan. Sorry.
Gunn: What are you doing?
Wesley: Trying to imagine myself as John Wayne in Rio Bravo. You?
Gunn: Austin Stoker, Assault on Precinct Thirteen.
Cordelia: If we live through this, trade in your DVD Players and get a life.
Angel: We'll get through this, I promise. The vampire/demon/biker posse, that's the easy part. The part that scares me is all the questions. Why is the sky blue? Why do people get sick? Why is there always pigs' blood in the fridge? I don't have all the answers. Well, I do to that last one.
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