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|No Place Like Home|
Big Vampire: I've always wanted to kill the Slayer.
Buffy: And I've always wanted piano lessons. So really... who's surprised we've got this unexpressed rage? But honestly, I think I express mine better. Tell you what... you find yourself a good anger management class, and I'll jam this pokey wood stick through your heart.
Security Guard: Miss, if you're looking for one of the rave parties, I'm afraid you're late. Chased a bunch of kids out of here last night.
Buffy: Oh, right, yeah, darn. My fellow ravers will be so disappointed. It was my turn to bring the Bundt cake.
Joyce (about the breakfast Buffy made for her): You two do all this?
Dawn: Oh, Buffy helped.
Buffy: I didn't help.
Joyce: I'm sure you did. So, neither of you's pregnant, failing, or under indictment? Just checking.
Buffy: I think we should get a second opinion.
Joyce: Well, we need a first opinion first, honey.
Buffy: Did you ever have any names for me?
Joyce: No, I think you were always just Buffy.
Dawn: I got some names for ya.
Dawn: Check out all the magic junk.
Giles: Our new slogan.
Giles: It appears to be paranormal in origin.
Buffy: How can you tell?
Giles: Well, it's so shiny.
Willow: I can't help it. I just have all this involuntary empathy for Dawn. Cuz she's, you know... a big spaz.
Giles: There's too many of them. People. A-a-and they all... seem to want things.
Xander: I hear ya. Stay British you'll be okay.
Anya (to a customer who just finished her purchase): Please go.
Xander: Anya, the Shopkeepers of America called. They wanted me to tell you that "Please go" just got replaced with "Have a nice day."
Anya: But I have their money. Who cares what kind of day they have?
Xander: No one. It's just a long cultural tradition of raging insincerity. Embrace.
Willow (displaying an item she's just wrapped): Does this look right to you?
Anya: Sure. If you wrapped it with your feet.
Dawn (knocking on Buffy's door): What are you doing?
Buffy: My boyfriend. Go away.
Spike: Oh, yeah, okay. Let me guess you won't kill me? Ooh! The whole crowd-pleasing threats and swagger routine. Outstandingly original. You know, I'm just passing through. Satisfied? You know, I really hope so, because God knows you need some satisfaction in life besides shagging Captain Cardboard! And I never really liked you anyway. And you have stupid hair!
Giles: Would someone please rip that bloody bell off its hinges?
Xander: Would that involve moving?
Willow: My feet are numb.
Xander: I'll see your numbness and raise you a lower back pain.
Giles: I think I liked it better when demons would just crash in here and tear the place apart. Just seemed so much simpler.
Monk: My journey is done, I think.
Buffy: Don't get metaphory on me. We're going.
Monk: You have to. The key. You must protect the key.
Buffy: Fine. We can protect the key together, okay? Just far, far from here.
Monk: Many more die if you don't keep it safe.
Buffy: How? What is it?
Monk: The key is energy. It's a portal. It opens the door...
Buffy: The Dagon Sphere?
Monk: No. For centuries it had no form at all. My brethren, it's only keepers, then... the abomination found us. We had to hide the key. Gave it form. Molded it flesh. Made it human. And sent it to you.
Monk: She's the key.
Buffy: You put that in my house?
Monk: We knew the Slayer would protect.
Buffy: My memories... My mom's...
Monk: We built them.
Buffy: Then unbuild them. This is my life you're
Monk: You cannot abandon.
Buffy: I didn't ask for this. I don't even know... What is she?
Monk: Human. Now human. And helpless. Please, she's an innocent in this. She needs you.
Buffy: She's not my sister?
Monk: She doesn't know that.
Dawn: I tell you I have this theory. It goes where, you're the one who's not my sister. Cuz mom adopted you from a shoe box full of baby howler monkeys, and never told you cuz it could hurt your delicate baby feelings.
Buffy: That's your theory?
Dawn: Explains your fashion sense. And smell.
Buffy: I just had a bad day.
Dawn: Well, join the club.
Buffy: Can I be president?
Dawn: I'm president. You can be the janitor.