Cordelia: It was a great audition. I was all about things leaking. How could they not pick me?
Doyle: If you ever want to, you know, spend one night away from the place, maybe give me a call.
Cordelia: Well, stranger things have happened. No... wait... they really haven't.
Doyle: Tell me stuff.
Angel: What stuff?
Doyle: About Cordelia.
Angel: Well, I know she can't type or file. 'Til today, I had some hope regarding the phone.
Doyle: Who's Aura?
Angel: I think she's one of Cordelia's group. People called them the
Cordettes. A bunch of girls from wealthy families. They ruled the high school, decided what was in, who was popular. It's like the Soviet Secret Police if they cared a lot about shoes.
Doyle: You're all about money. What about friendship and family and all those things that are priceless…like they say in that credit card commercial?!
Cordelia: My apartment. It's like the barrio or the projects or whatever. And I live there! I am a girl from the projects!
Cordelia: Get this, I tried to call Doyle--I sunk that low--and there was no answer. So, here I am. Not that you were a last resorts, just that I had nowhere else to go.
Cordelia: Roaches! Live ones. Dead ones. All skinny feet and creepy antlers!
Angel: Antlers?
Cordelia: Oh my god, I wonder how many stowed away in that bag! Also, the water is all brown and spurty and not hot! I am dying for a shower. I actually smell. Smell me. I never smell. I didn't know I could. I'm just going to have to stay here until I find a decent place, however long that takes. And when I do you're completely invited over. Hey, you can just dump my stuff on your couch, or let me have the bed, whatever you feel good about. Also, my suitcase is still out in the hall.
Cordelia: Do you have mousse? Of course you do.
Doyle: Angel, you knew I was crazy about her, and I was wearing her down, too. But no, handsome brooding vampire guy has to swoop in all sensitive mouth and overhanging forehead. How 'bout leaving some scraps for the homely-looking fellows who don't turn evil when they get some.
Cordelia: Angel, at some point in recent history you got peanut butter on the bed. And it's gross. I think you're going to have to change your sheets.
Angel: I don't eat.
Doyle: Hey, Cordy, you're looking great, by the way.
Cordelia: I wouldn't know, man doesn't have a mirror. Like it would kill him to not see himself.
Doyle: Your high school diploma's all burned.
Cordelia: Yeah. It was a rough ceremony.
Doyle: Finally! What is it with you and Angel? You gotta do everything the hard way.
Cordelia: It's amazing in there. What's wrong with it!?
Realtor: I guess it's your lucky day.
Cordelia: I used to have those, too.
Cordelia: Yes! And part of it being perfect is there being one tiny flaw for me to fix.
Doyle: Ah, must be why you find me so fascinating.
Cordelia: I'm from Sunnydale! You're not scaring me you know!
Cordelia: You know what? I get it. You're a ghost. You're dead! Big accomplishment! Move on! You see a light anywhere? Go towards it!
Cordelia: Whoo! Cold wind! Scary. What're you gonna do? Chap me to death?
Cordelia: Wait, what about the rule?
Angel: You said when you got a place I was completely invited over.
Cordelia: What? I didn't even have a place then!
Cordelia: I am not giving up this apartment.
Angel: It's haunted.
Cordelia: It's rent controlled!
Cordelia: Listen, Casper! You haven't won yet. I'll die before I give up this apartment!
Maude Pearson: All right, dear. If that's what you think is best.
Cordelia: This apartment! I could be me again. Punishment over. It's like, welcome back to your life! Like, I couldn't be that awful if I get to have a place like that. It's just like you.
Angel: Working for redemption.
Cordelia: Um, I meant because you used to have that mansion.
Cordelia: This is easy. Little old lady ghost. Probably hanging around because she thinks she left the iron on.
Cordelia: Oh goody, another of Doyle's guys. Tell me, is this the same guy that helped me find my poltergeistilicious apartment?
Cordelia: Little old lady ghosts.... how come Patrick Swayze's never dead when you need him?
Kate: Now you're talking like a detective.
Angel: I am a detective.
Kate: Well, see, the thing about detectives is they have resumes and business licenses and last names. Pop stars and popes, those are the one-named guys.
Angel: You got me. I'm a pope.
Doyle: Uh, Angel Investigations, we hope you're helpless.... no wait...
Angel: Doyle, chant.
Doyle: Oh man, Latin! One of those dead languages you always made me learn…
Cordelia: I'm not a sniveling, whining little cry-Buffy. I'm the nastiest girl in Sunnydale history. I take crap from no one!
Cordelia: Back off Polygrip!! You think you're bad? All mean and haunty? Picking on poor pathetic
Cordy. Well, get ready to haul your wrinkly translucent ass outta this place, cuz lady.... the Bitch is back.
Maude Pearson: Do you think I'm going to take that from trash like you?
Cordelia: I'll tell you what I think. I think you're going to pack your little ghost bags and get the hell out of MY HOUSE!!!
Doyle: You did it.
Cordelia: Yeah, well, she pissed me off.
Angel: Sooner or later I'm gonna need to hear it.
Doyle: What?
Angel: The story of your life.
Doyle: Ah, and quite a tale it is, too. Full of ribald adventures and beautiful damsels with loose morals.
Angel: Doyle.
Doyle: I will. Just give me time. The past, don't let go does she.
Angel: She never does.
Cordelia: Hey, hey, phantom Dennis. Put that back! Dennis! When I'm on the phone, that's quiet time.
