DAWN: I'm not an idiot. I know you're talking about me.
XANDER: No, no, we really weren't.
ANYA: We were talking about sex.

BUFFY: Ohh ... it's beautiful. Thank you, guys.
TARA: Well, we thought you'd get lots of crossbows, other killy stuff.
WILLOW: Yeah, so we figured, less killy, more frilly.

BUFFY: Get away from my sister.
GLORY: Hey, we were just talking about you.
BUFFY: Conversation's over, hell-bitch.

BUFFY: You were right. This is my fault. I should have told her.
SPIKE: Look, she probably would have skipped off anyway, even if she never found out. She's not just a blob of energy, she's also a fourteen-year-old hormone bomb. Which one's screwing her up more right now, spin the bloody wheel. You'll find her, just in the nick of time, that's what you hero types do.

SPIKE: Shouldn't you be tucked away in your beddy-bye? All warm and safe where nothing can eat you?
DAWN: Is that supposed to scare me?
SPIKE: Little tremble wouldn't hurt.
DAWN: Sorry, it's just ... come on. I'm badder than you.
SPIKE: Are not!
DAWN: Am too. You're standing in the bushes hugging a bent box of chocolates, and I'm-
SPIKE: What? Sneaking out to braid hair and watch Teletubbies with your mates?

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