Mal: There ain’t-a one of us looks the part more than the good doctor. I mean, the pretty fits, soft hands, definitely a moneyed individual. All rich and lily-white, pasty all over—
Simon: All right! Fine, I’ll go. Just… stop describing me.

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Mal: Patients were cynical, and not responding, and we couldn’t bring ’em back.
Simon: They were cyanotic…

Tracey: When you can’t run, you crawl. And when you can’t crawl, when you can’t do that…
Zoe: … you find someone to carry you.

Mal: Did you send word to Patience?
Wash: Ain’t heard back yet. Didn’t she shoot you one time?
Mal: Everybody’s makin’ a fuss.

Simon: I’m trying to put this as delicately as I can. How do I know you won’t kill me in my sleep?
Mal: You don’t know me, son, so let me explain this to you once. If I ever kill you you’ll be awake. You’ll be facing me. And you’ll be armed.
Simon: Are you always this sentimental?
Mal: I had a good day.
Simon: You had the Alliance on you. Criminals and savages. Half the people on the ship have been shot or wounded including yourself. And you’re harboring known fugitives.
Mal: We’re still flying.
Simon: That’s not much.
Mal: It’s enough.

Mal: We’re not thieves. Well, we are thieves. Point is, we’re not takin’ what’s his. Now, we’ll stay out of his way as best we can from here on in. You explain that that’s best for everyone, okay?