Mal: You wanna tell me how come there’s a statue here, lookin’ at me like I owe him something?
Jayne: Wishin’ I could, cap’n.
Mal: No, seriously, Jayne, you want to tell me–?
Jayne: Look, Mal, I got no ruttin’ idea. I was here a few years back, like I said. Pulled a second-story, stole a lot of scratch from the magistrate up on the hill. But things went way south. I had to hightail it. They don’t… put you on a pedestal in town square for that.
Mal: Yeah, but I’m looking at some fair compelling evidence says they do.
Simon: This must be what going mad feels like.

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Mal: We’re not gonna die. We can’t die, Bendis. You know why? Because we are so very pretty. We are just too pretty for God to let us die.

Simon: What about us?
Mal: Kaylee comes through, you and your sister get off at Whitefall.
Simon: If she doesn’t come through?
Mal: Well, then you’re gettin’ off a mite sooner.

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

Inara: Does it seem every supply store on every water planet has the same five rag dolls and the same wood carvings of – what is this? A duck?