Lund: You didn’t toast? Y’know, I’m thinkin’ you one of them independents.
Mal: And I’m thinkin’ you weren’t burdened with an overabundance of schooling. So why don’t we just ignore each other, til we go away?

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Mal: The next time you decide to stab me in the back, have the guts to do it to my face.

Mal: We have done the impossible and that makes us mighty.

Simon: Can you move your feet? Kaylee. Stay with me. Can you move your feet?
Kaylee: Are you asking me to dance?

Pilot

Simon: Need a weave on that?
Mal: It’s nothin’.
Simon: I expect there’s someone’s face feels differently.
Mal: I know they tell ya, you never hit a man with a closed fist, but it is, on occasion, hilarious.

Mal: That poor bastard you took off my ship. He looked right into the face of it. Was made to stare.
Harken: “It”?
Mal: The darkness. Kind of darkness you can’t even imagine. Blacker than the space it moves through.
Harken: Very poetic.
Mal: They made him watch. He probably tried to turn away, and they wouldn’t let him. You call him a survivor? He’s not. A man comes up against that kind of will, the only way to deal with it, I suspect, is to become it.

Bushwhacked