Dawn: You remember what Mom used to say? "Either wash that neck or plant potatoes." Yeah, I never thought it was funny, either.

Spike: You scared me half to death. Or more to death.

Spike: You-- I could kill you. I mean it. I could rip your head off one-handed and drink from your brainstem.

Dawn: She's been through a lot with the... death. But I think she's okay.

Buffy: How long was I gone?
Spike: 147 days yesterday. Uh, 148 today. Except today doesn't count, does it?

Buffy: Tired.
Anya: Yeah, I mean, jet lag from hell has got to be, you know, jet lag from hell.

Anya: I don't think she's particularly normal at all.
Xander: Well, she just got back. Give it time. I bet in a week she'll be our little Buff-erin again.
Anya: Oh, yes, six or seven days, that's all you really need to get over eternal hell experiences.

Xander: Look me in the eyes and tell me when you saw Buffy alive, that wasn't the happiest moment of your entire existence.

Spike: That's the thing about magic. There's always consequences. Always!

Willow: Glad, but kind of weirded out. Which I get, you know. Lot's of "Dear lords," and I think I actually heard him clean his glasses.

Tara: You thought she'd say thanks... be more grateful.
Willow: Would I be a terrible person if I said yes?

Tara: Maybe we dreamed it.
Willow: Right, right. Wrong -- different brains.

Xander: Very bad. Very, very, very bad. Bad.
Anya: He's all traumatized.

Anya: It's a standard way to travel through dimensions. Some demon-a-thing sees someone moving between worlds, and grabs on for the ride.

Xander: But what are we gonna do? I mean, I'm feeling the need for some vigorous doing, you know?

Willow: It's okay. We just kill the beastie, and all is good. We're rolling in puppies.

Dawn: What's the list?
Anya: Possible hitchhikers.
Xander: Demons that might have come out of hell the same time Buffy did.
Dawn: (reading) "Skaggmore demons, Trellbane demons, skitterers, large and small bone-eaters." If we get to pick, I say we go with the small bone-eaters.
Anya: Well, that just means they prefer to eat things with small bones. Like you.

Anya: Well, that's four -- what's the other one like?
Tara: Oh, like the others, only dripping with viscous fluid.
Dawn: Eww.

Anya: I found one of those 24-hour places for coffee. Remember that bookstore? Well, they became one of those books and coffee places, and now they're just coffee. It's like evolution, only without the "getting better" part.

Anya: Did I look like that? I hope I didn't look like that.
Willow: No, I'm sure you looked really glamorous cutting up your face.

Anya: Evil things have plans. They have things to do.

Spike: It's hard to get a good night's death around here.

Spike: I do remember what I said. The promise. To protect her. If I'd have done that, even if I didn't make it, you wouldn't have had to jump. But I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course, but after that. Every night after that. I'd see it all again, and do something different. Faster, or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways. Every night, I save you.

Tara: I like sunrise better when I'm getting up early than when I'm staying up late, you know? It's like I'm seeing it from the wrong side.

Xander: We made a demon? Bad us.

Anya: Technically, that's not a price -- that's a gift with purchase.

Anya: Why are you smiling? That's inappropriate.

Dawn: Xander, drive faster.
Xander: I can't.
Dawn: I could drive faster and I can't drive.
Anya: She's right. You're like a snail. A snail who's driving a car very slowly.

Anya: So now what? We have to talk in some sort of anti-demon secret code?
Xander: Ood-gay idea-yay, An-yay.

Xander: So they'll make it more solid so Buffy can kick its fully-embodied ass.

Willow & Tara: Child of words, hear thy makers. Child of words, we entreat. With our actions did we make thee. To our voices wilt thou bend. With our potions, thou took motive. With our motions came to pass. We rescind no past devotions. Give thee substance, give thee mass.

Dawn: That's probably the sort of thing I'm not supposed to see, right?

Buffy: You know what they say -- those of us who fail history... doomed to repeat it in summer school.

Dawn: Are you okay?
Buffy: I'm going to start charging money for every person that asks me that.

Spike: I was going to go inside, but I overheard you and the super-friends exchanging a special moment, and I came over a bit queasy. Say, aren't you leaving a hole in the middle of some soggy group hug?

Buffy: That's okay. I can be alone with you here.
Spike: Thanks ever so.

Spike: Well, I haven't been to a hell-dimension just of late, but I know a thing or two about torment.
Buffy: I was happy. Wherever I was, I was happy. At peace. I knew that everyone I cared about was all right. I knew it. Time didn't mean anything. Nothing had form, but I was still me, you know? And I was warm, and I was loved. And I was finished. Complete. I don't understand theology and dimensions... or any of it, really. But I think I was in heaven. And now I'm not. I was torn out of there, pulled out by my friends. Everything here is hard, and bright, and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch... this is hell. Just getting through the next moment and the one after that. Knowing what I've lost... They can never know. Never.