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