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.

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Wash: I don’t want you to spare me, Mal. If you think you know what’s happening, then you tell me. You wouldn’t spare Zoë if she were in this situation with you, would you? You would be planning, and plotting and… possibly scheming. So whatever Zoë would do in this instance is what I wanna do. Do you know why? No matter how ugly it gets, you two always come back with the stories. So… I’m Zoë. Now, what do I do?
Mal: Probably not talk quite so much.
Wash: Terse? I can be terse. Once in flight school, I was laconic.

War Stories

Jayne: Any one you walk away from, right? Long as we got the goods, I call this a win.
Mal: Right. We win.

Pilot

Jayne: Testing. Testing, Captain, can you hear me?
Mal: I’m standing right here.
Jayne: You’re coming through good and loud.
Mal: ‘Cause I’m standing right here.

Mal: Well, didn’t I see an entire regiment of fine, young Alliance federals on the train?
Sheriff: You did. Same regiment let our medicine get swiped right out from under their noses then took off for their own camp without so much as a whoopsy-daisy.

Mal: And I never back down from a fight.
Inara: Yes, you do. You do all the time.

Shindig