Xander: Well, not much goes on in a one-Starbucks town like Sunnydale.
Cordelia: So does looking at guns make you wanna have sex?
Xander: I’m 17. Looking at linoleum makes me wanna have sex.
Willow: He’s delirious. He thought I was Buffy.
Oz: You too, huh?
Principal Flutie: We all need help with our feelings. Otherwise, we bottle them up, and before you know it powerful laxatives are involved.
Giles: I’m not supposed to have a private life?
Buffy: No. Because you’re very, very old and it’s gross.
Xander: For I am Xander, Kind of Cretins, may all lesser Cretins bow before me.
Anya: You don’t need me. All you care about is lots of orgasms.
Xander: Okay, remember how we talked about private conversations? How they’re less private when they’re in front of my friends?
Spike: Oh, we’re not your friends; go on.
Spike: Sometimes I like to crumble the Weetabix in the blood. Gives it a little texture.
Giles: Since the picture you just painted means that I will never touch food of any kind again, you’ll just have to pick it up yourself.
Faith: You can’t trust guys.
Buffy: You can trust some guys. Really, I’ve read about them.
Xander: Well, ’cause you never know if a girl’s gonna say yes or if she’s gonna laugh in your face and pull out your still-beating heart and crush it into the ground with her heel.
Giles: There is a certain dramatic irony attached to all this. A synchronicity that borders on predestination, one might say.
Buffy: Fire bad. Tree pretty.
Giles: Testosterone is a great equalizer. It turns all men into morons.
Willow: How can you be so calm?
Oz: Long, arduous hours of practice.
Giles: Why would someone want to hurt Cordelia?
Willow: Maybe because they met her? Did I say that?
Xander: I happen to be very biteable, pal. I’m moist, and delicious.
Willow: Well, I’m…ooh, boyfriend! My on-campus boyfriend.
Buffy: Oh no, I forgot to pick mine up. Line’s probably really long there, too.
Buffy: Oh, no…I have to go take an English make-up exam. They give you credit just for speaking it, right?
Xander: My whole life just flashed before my eyes. I gotta get me a life.
Oz: Guys. Take a moment to deal with all this. We survived.
Buffy: It was a hell of a battle.
Oz: Not the battle. High school.
Giles: Smell is the most powerful trigger to the memory there is. A certain flower or a whiff of smoke can bring up experiences long forgotten. Books smell musty and rich. The knowledge gained from a computer is…it has no texture, no context. It’s there and then it’s gone. If it’s to last, then the getting of knowledge should be tangible. It should be, um, smelly.
Druscilla: My mummy used to sing to me to sleep…I wonder what your mummy will sing when they find your body?
Xander: That’s okay, I don’t wanna go. I’m just gonna go home, lie down and listen to country music…the music of pain.
Buffy: I told you. I said ‘End of the World,’ and you were like pooh-pooh, Southern California, pooh-pooh.
Xander: To read makes our speaking english good.
Anya: I swear, I am just trying to find my necklace.
Willow: Well, did you try looking inside the sofa in hell?