W: A knife with that mark is the only way to kill a Kek demon. It could be very useful.
A: Especially if Kek demons weren't extinct.
W: They are? Oh dear. Well, perhaps there's one out there hibernating, ready to awaken at any moment and embark on a grisly rampage.
A: I'll keep my fingers crossed.

A: She's making brownies.
W: Oh, is that what I smell? I thought I'd tracked something in.

C: You're gonna love 'em.
W: Me? Doesn't Angel have to... get to try any?
C: They're brownies full of nutty goodness, not red blood cells.
W: Oh, I wasn't thinking. More of a drinker than an eater, I suppose.
C: Maybe if he branched out into the solids, he'd keep a decent knife around.
[grabs Kek knife]
W: That is not appropriate! It's for killing extinct demons! Angel, make her stop.

W: That blade is very old, who knows what kind of corrosive effect your cooking may have on it.
C: Corrosive effect?
A: Cordelia, just put down the very sharp knife.
W: Well, they don't smell right.
C: I think Mr. Too-Much-Cologne is the pot calling the kettle stinky.

R: She took one of my cards.
S: I did not!
R: You did too. I had five of this one, and now I only have four.
P: Well, there are children in India who only have three.

C: Pretend to read any good books lately?

C: Look, you don't have to be Joe Stoic about his dying, I mean, I know that you have this 'unflappable' vibe working for you, but you don't have to do that for me.
A: I'm not unflappable.
C: Great. So flap!

A: I've been around death before. A lot. I've lost people. I've killed people. . .
C: And you are dead.

R: You're bleeding. Are you gonna cry?
A: I don't think so. I don't know. Let me think. No . . . yeah . . . no. Nope, not gonna cry.

A: I'll be fine, really. I'm not a big bleeder.

S: (smoking): This bother you?
A: No.
D: Lotta health nuts these days, you know. Like anyone needs to live forever.
A: No one needs that.

A: Let me guess. Couldn't lose the black cloud.
C: Like it was fitted with chin straps.

C: What is this stuff anyway? It's kinda pretty.
W: It's the bodily excretion of an Ethros Demon.
C: No one could have said 'demon poo' *before* I touched it?

W: It tends to go in for mass murder. You've heard of Lizzie Borden--she killed her parents with an ax?
C: I remember the children's rhyme. And how come they're all full of death and cradles falling and mice getting tails cut off? Anyway, the whole thing needs a ratings system, don't you think?

C: So someone in the family's got a squatter in their head, what do we do about it?

W: A little Silas Eucalyptus Powder ingested by the host. . .
C: Then what? Dad goes "grrr"? Head spins around?
W: Essentially.

A: Okay, how do I get someone to eat Eucalyptus Powder?
::ding dong::
A: I made brownies.

A: Everything was . . . very good.
S: Roast was a little dry.
A: No! It was full of . . . roasty goodness.

P: What's your secret, Angel?
A: I use chocolate. That's why they're brown -- which gives them their name. Brownies!

C: Hi, I'm Cordelia! Sorry about the possession and everything.
S: Uh, hello.

C: I wonder if I should put plastic down. Angel, are you expecting any big vomiting here? Because I saw the movie.

C: Jeez, we got it! Circle, angry, kill, kill, kill! Go to church already.

P: I'm not going to him, okay. I'm playing by the stupid rules.
C: Good! We can watch tv or play cards. You'll get caught up, won't even hear your son's pain.

C: It's almost over. And Angel is good at this kind of thing, and Wesley . . . well, I'm sure they'll be right back with the priest.

A: You've never done this before. Look, it takes tremendous strength -- mental strength.
W: Resistence to suggestion. Yes, I understand that. I like to think of myself as possessing a certain . . .
A: Wesley, you don't even have sales resistance. How many thigh masters do you own?
W: The second one was a free gift with my Buns of Steel.

W: You're saying I can't do it.
A: That's right.
W: So, our only option is ::tosses cross at Angel:: you do it.
A (dropping cross like a hot potato): That was vulgar.
W: But I believe I made my point.

W: I believe I know how the priest was killed. When an Ethros is cast out it immediately seeks another body to inhabit. The demon is expelled with such force, the newly inhabited rarely survives.
A: That's a problem.
W: I dare say.

C: It says right here the demon goes all dingy when it's forced out -- bad sense of direction or something.

C: Without one of these . . .
A: The demon'll try to make the jump to the nearest warm body.
C: Right. So you're safe anyway.

C: Maybe we can build one of these.
A: Uh, an authentic Ethros Box is made of 600 species of virgin woods and hand-crafted by blind Tibetan monks.
C: Nope, don't know any.

R: Your Latin sucks.

R: You couldn't even Watch. Everyone knows you got fired because you couldn't do anything right. Nothing is going to make him proud of you.
W: Skimming the surface of my mind. Very good. But a mere parlor trick. Here's one for you. How many crosses am I holding up?

C: What's that?
Rick, the Magic Story Guy: Good eye. That's a Shoreshank Box.
C: What's the diff?
Rick: About 20 dollars. And it's not available in the mahogany finish.
C: Looks the same. Hand-crafted by, uh, blind Tibetan monks?
Rick: Pieced together by mute Chinese nuns. Now that's craftsmanship.

A: It'll be looking for a hostile environment -- somewhere damp. Probably returning to primordial volcanic basalt for its regeneration.
C: Huh?
W: Sea caves.

C: Why didn't you just say that?
W: What that demon said before. . .
A: I know you're not planning to kill me, Wesley. But you're willing to. And that's good.

Ethros: You're dealing with forces beyond your comprehension.
A: Yeah? Well it's a hobby of mine.

W: You great, putrescent bully!

Ethros: Do you know what the most frightening thing in the world is? Nothing.

S: I was just trying to hold my family together.
A: I think you did.