Buffy: My fellow ravers will so disappointed. It was my turn to bring the bunt cake.
Buffy: I put his before the group. What the hell is it?
Giles: It appears to be paranormal in origin.
Willow: How can you tell?
Giles: Well, it's so shiny.
Willow: I can't help it. I just have all this involuntary empathy for Dawn... 'cause she's, you know, a big spaz.
Anya: Hmm. Your conjuring powder is grotesquely over-priced.
Giles: Anya.
Anya: I'm sorry. I'm nearly out of money. I never had to afford things before and it's making me bitter.
Anya: Well, you're getting ripped off. I can hook you up direct with the troll that sheds it.
Giles: Xander. There's too many of them. People. And, and, and...they all...seem to want things.
Xander: I hear ya. Stay British. You'll be okay.
Anya: Please go.
Xander: Anya, the shopkeepers union of America called; they want me to tell you that "Please go" just got replaced with "Have a nice day."
Anya: But I have their money. Who cares what kind of day they have.
Xander: No one. It's just a long cultural tradition of raging insincerity. Embrace it.
Anya: Hey you! Have a nice day.
Xander: There's my girl!
Willow: Does this look right to you?
Anya: Sure. If you wrapped it with your feet.
Dawn: What are you doing?
Buffy: My boyfriend. Go away.
Buffy: You're not my sister.
Buffy: What are you doing here. Five words or less.
Spike: Out. For. A. Walk…Bitch.
Spike: On your merry way, then? You know, contrary to one's self-involved worldview, 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.
Spike: 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.
Giles: Would someone please rip that bloody bell off its hinges?
Xander: Would that involve moving?
Willow: My feet are numb.
Xander: I'll see your numbness and I'll raise you a lower back pain.
Giles: I think I liked it better when demons would just crash in here and tear the place apart. Seems so much simpler.
Giles: Anya! Would you like a job?
Anya: Okay.
Giles: Good. We can talk shop tomorrow.
Anya: Okay…Boss.
Buffy: She's not my sister?
Monk: She doesn't know that.
Dawn: 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.
Buffy: That's your theory?
Dawn: It explains your fashion sense. And smell.
