Simon: Can you move your feet? Kaylee. Stay with me. Can you move your feet?
Kaylee: Are you asking me to dance?
Lund: I’m thinking somebody needs to put you down, dog. What do you think ?
Mal: I’m thinking we’ll rise again.
Harken: Seems odd you’d name your ship after a battle you were on the wrong side of.
Mal: May have been the losing side. Still not convinced it was the wrong one.
Simon: I’m very sorry if she tipped off anyone about your cunningly concealed herd of cows.
Wash: You brute.
Kaylee: Oh, sweetie, don’t feel bad. He makes everybody cry. He’s like a monster.
Mal: I’m not a monster!
Wash: What happened to Simon? Who is this diabolical master of disguise?
Wash: Monastic humor. I miss out on all the fun.
Mal: The next time you decide to stab me in the back, have the guts to do it to my face.
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?
Mal: Someone ever tries to kill you, you try to kill ’em right back!
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.
Kaylee: Well, Shepherd told us a funny story about bein’ a preacher, now you tell us a funny story about bein’ a doctor.
Simon: Ah, a funny story.
Jayne: Yeah, ’cause sick people are hi-larious.
Book: He said, “Live with a man forty years. Share his house, his meals, speak on every subject, then tie him up, and hold him over the volcano’s edge, and on that day, you will finally meet the man.”
Simon: What if you don’t live by a volcano?
Book: I suspect he was being poetical.
Inara: What did I say to you about barging into my shuttle?
Mal: That it was manly and impulsive?
Inara: Yes, precisely. Only the exact phrase I used was ‘don’t’.
Wash: Can we maybe vote on the whole “murdering people” issue?
Mal: Well, what about you, Shepherd? How come you’re flying about with us brigands? I mean, shouldn’t you be off bringing religiosity to the Fuzzie-Wuzzies or some such?
Book: Oh, I got heathens aplenty right here.
Mal: If I’m your mission, Shepherd, best give it up. You’re welcome on my boat. God ain’t.
Mal: It sounds like the finest party I can imagine getting paid to go to.
Inara: I don’t suppose you’d find it up to the standards of your outings. More conversation, and somewhat less… petty theft and getting hit with pool cues.
Mal: This is the last time. Last time with cows. Hey, there was an idea regarding beagles? They have smallish droppings?
Zoe: I believe so, sir. Also, your disreputable men are here.
Mal: Better go take their money.
Book: If you take sexual advantage of her, you’re going to burn in a very special level of Hell. A level they reserve for child molesters and people who talk at the theater.
Jayne: Instead of us hanging around playing art critic till I get pinched by the Man, how’s about we move away from this eerie-ass piece of work and get on with our increasingly eerie-ass day, how’s that?
Kaylee: Catalyzer on the port compression coil blew. It’s where the trouble started.
Mal: Okay, I need that in captain dummy-talk, Kaylee.
Kaylee: We’re dead in the water.