Simon: Suffocation’s not exactly the most dignified way to go. The human body will involuntarily-
Inara: Please, I don’t really require a clinical description right now.
Simon: I’m sorry. I just, uh… It was my birthday.
Book: Yes, I’d forgotten you’re moonlighting as a criminal mastermind now. Got your next heist planned?
Simon: No. But, I’m thinking about growing a big black mustache. I’m a traditionalist.
Wash: Little River just gets more colorful by the moment. What’ll she do next?
Zoe: Either blow us all up or rub soup in our hair. It’s a toss-up.
Wash: I hope she does the soup thing. It’s always a hoot, and we don’t all die from it.
Simon: What happens if they board us?
Zoe: If they take the ship, they’ll rape us to death, eat our flesh, and sew our skins into their clothing. And if we’re very, very lucky, they’ll do it in that order.
Mal: Hell, this job I would pull for free.
Zoe: Then can I have your share?
Zoe: If you die can I have your share?
Mal: Okay, help me find our man. He’s supposed to be older, kind of stocky, wears a red sash crossways.
Kaylee: Why does he do that?
Mal: Maybe he won the Miss Persephone pageant. Just help me look.
Kaylee: Is that him?
Mal: That’s the buffet table.
Kaylee: Well, how can we be sure, unless we question it?
Mal: Fine. Don’t make yourself sick.
Jayne: “Dear Diary: Today I was pompous and my sister was crazy. Today we were kidnapped by hill folk, never to be seen again. It was the best day ever.”
Zoe: Remember that sex we were planning to have, ever again?
Book: River, you don’t fix the Bible.
River: It’s broken. It doesn’t make sense.
Book: It’s not about making sense. It’s about believing in something. And letting that belief be real enough to change your life. It’s about faith. You don’t fix faith, River. It fixes you.
River: You’re afraid we’re going to run out of air. That we’ll die gasping. But we won’t. That’s not going to happen. We’ll freeze to death first.
Mal: Don’t worry, I’m not gonna start any sword fights. I’m over that phase.
Wash (as Stegosaurus): Yes. Yes. This is a fertile land, and we will thrive. We will rule over all this land, and we will call it …’This Land’.
Mal: You know, I do believe that woman is planning to shoot me again.
Simon: What’s going on?
Wash: Don’t fall asleep now. Sleepiness is weakness of character, ask anyone.
Zoe: It is not!
Wash: You’re acting Captain. You know what happens, you fall asleep?
Zoe: Jayne slits my throat and takes over?
Wash: That’s right.
Zoe: And we can’t stop it?
Wash: I wash my hands of it. Hopeless case. I’ll read a nice poem at the funeral. Something with imagery.
Zoe: You could lock the door. Keep the power-hungry maniac at bay.
Wash: Don’t know. I’m starting to like this poetry thing. “Here lies my beloved Zoe, my autumn flower… somewhat less attractive now that she’s all corpsified and gross—”
Zoe: You sanguine about the kind of reception we’re apt to receive on an Alliance ship, Cap’n?
Mal: Absolutely. What’s “sanguine” mean?
Zoe: “Sanguine”. Hopeful. Plus, point of interest? it also means “bloody”.
Mal: Well, that pretty much covers all the options, don’t it?
Wash: Every planet has its own weird customs. About a year before we met, I spent six weeks on a moon where the principal form of recreation was juggling geese. My hand to God. Baby geese. Goslings. They were juggled.
Wash: We gotta go to the crappy town where I’m the hero!
Mal: I’m gettin’ a little weary of this attitude, Wash.
Wash: Are you? Well, I’m so very sorry, sir. I guess the news that we’re all gonna be purple and bloated and fetal in a few hours has made me little snippy.
Kaylee: No power in the ‘verse can stop me.
Wash: I’d say worth a little risk.
Jayne: Yeah, that was some pretty risky sittin’ you did there.
Wash: That’s right, of course, ’cause they wouldn’t arrest me if we got boarded, I’m just the pilot. I can always say I was flying the ship by accident.
Jayne: Here’s a little concept I been workin’ on. Why don’t we shoot her first?
Wash: It is her turn.
Jayne: Time for some thrilling heroics.
Sir Warrick: I know him. And I think he’s a psychotic low-life.
Mal: And I think calling him that is an insult to the psychotic low-life community.
Doralee: A place like this might be good for your sister. Quiet. Safe. A place where folks take care of each other.
Simon: Mmm, yes, seems like a lovely little community of kidnappers.