Anya: Let the girl speak the truth. We're all on death's door, repeatedly ringing the doorbell, like maniacal Girl Scouts trying to make quota.
Xander: Yeah, I'll get the magazines and start ripping out the letters now. “Dear Mr. First, if you want your Bringer back ... well, we'll be surprised because you've got like three million of them so please disregard this letter. Yours sincerely—”
Giles: The Bringer's dumb.
Anya: And you were expecting, what? A Rhodes Scholar?
Willow: Oh, yeah. I think I've read a translation of that.
Dawn: There's a translation of it? I'm over it.
Spike: He's a breath of fresh air, isn't he? Thank god I don't breathe.
Andrew: I feel used and violated ... and I need a lozenge.
First/Mayor Wilkins: Well, gosh! I think a “Hello” or a “Nice to see you” might be a little more welcome. It's the end of humanity Faith, not the end of courtesy.
Spike: You mean “no” as in “eventually”?
Buffy: You really have problems with that word, don't you?
Spike: It's bloody chaos over there without you.
Buffy: It is?
Spike: Yeah, it's ... there's junk food cartons, sleeping bags not rolled up ... everyone's very scared and unkempt.
Principal Wood: That's exactly what The First does. Finds your Achilles heel.
Faith: Nah, it just talked to me. What? It does a heel thing, too?
Principal Wood: It's a phrase. Your weak spot.
Faith: Oh. The school thing. I was kind of absent that decade.
Principal Wood: So did I but I still wanted my mother to hold me like a little baby. In a manly way, of course.
Anya: Of course I am! I'm a lot jealous. I mean, if we're done having sex, then I think other people should just knock it off.
