Willow: Buffy, it's hideous. Oh my god, Buffy, look at its arms!
Buffy: I know. But it's my duty. I'm Buffy the bridesmaid.
Willow: Duty-shmuty. I'm supposed to be best man. Shouldn't I be all Marlene Dietrich-y in a dashing tuxedo number?
Buffy: No.
Willow: Oh.
Buffy: That would be totally unfair. We must share equally in the cosmic joke that is bridemaidsdom.
Willow: Oh. Well, maybe if I ask Anya, I can still go with the traditional blood larvae and burlap. I mean, she was a vengeance demon for, like, a thousand years. She would know all the most flattering larvae...

Willow: Oh my god, last night, the rehearsal dinner. That was like a zoo without the table manners.

Buffy: I just can't believe everyone bought that story about Anya's people being circus folks. Did you see the guy with the tentacles? What's he supposed to be, Inky the Squid-boy?

Willow: Did you see how much they drank?
Buffy: Kinda. Mr. Harris threw up in my purse.

Krelvin: Yeah, we met. You said I resembled your mother-in-law.
Mrs. Harris: Tony!
Tony Harris: Oh, yeah.
Krelvin: And then you hit me with a cocktail wiener, and then you insulted my heritage.

Tony Harris: I mean no disrespect, of course. I'm sure you come from a long, proud line of geeks.

Cousin Carol: You know that guy Kevin? If he could clear up the skin problem, do you think - do you suppose he'd date a woman with a kid? I mean, I really can't afford to be very picky.

Xander: Now nothing on earth can stop this wedding, now.

Buffy: It'll fit.
Xander: Ah, man, what if it doesn't? What if I can't wear my cummerbund, and then the whole world can see the place where my pants meet my shirt! Buffy, that cannot happen. I must wear das cummerbund!

Xander: I've been meaning to cut back on that habit-forming oxygen.

Buffy: You're glowing. Oh my god - maybe you're pregnant!
Xander: Maybe. I don't know. Maybe I'm just happy.

Xander: Happy teary, not frustrated-with-bow-tie teary?

Anya: I, Anya, promise to love you, to cherish you, to honor you, but not to obey you, of course, because that's anachronistic and misogynistic, and who do you think you are, like a sea captain or something?

Anya: Blah blah blah, misogynistic, blah blah... I do, however, entrust you with my heart. Take care of my heart, won't you, please? Take care of it, because it's all that I have, and if you let me, I'll take care of your heart, too. I'll protect it and tend to it, like a little stray. Wait, no. Like a little mangy stray that needs a home.

Anya: Oh, I want to see Xander now!
Willow: You can't. It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress, remember?
Anya: Right. I can't keep all these ridiculous traditions straight. Well, what if I'm not wearing my dress when I see him? Okay, no sex. Cuddling?

Uncle Rory: It was my trade. I used to stuff things. I still do, but only for fun.

D'Hoffryn: Hymen's greetings.
Dawn: Hy-what?
D'Hoffryn: Hymen, the god of matrimony. His salutations upon you. May the love we celebrate today avoid an almost inevitable decline.

Dawn: I can put this on the table for you.
D'Hoffryn: Oh, thank you. Careful, it's, uh...
Dawn: Fragile?
D'Hoffryn: Squirmy.

Halfrek: So, Dawnie, how's everything? Going good? Nothing you, uh, wish was different?
D'Hoffryn: Hallie, for yekks sake, take a day off. We're not here to do vengeance, we're here to mingle.

Cousin Carol: The Harrises are very broad-minded. We're Episcopalians.

Xander: How do I look?
Buffy: Well, let's see - found your shoes, your fly's zipped... I'd say you looked like you're ready to get married.

Buffy: Now, into the breach with you.
Xander: Okay, breach me.

Xander: Now, let's go over the list one more time. Number 1...
Buffy: Don't let your dad near the bar.
Xander: Check. Number 2...
Buffy: Don't let your mom near the bar.
Xander: Check.

Old Guy: It sounds crazy, I knows, but you have to believe me. I'm Xander Harris. I'm you.
Xander: What do you mean, you're me?
Old Guy: I'm you. I'm you from the future.
Xander: Oh! From the future! For a minute I thought you were a nutball. But now that you're from the future...

Tony Harris: To my wife. What would I do without you, beautiful? Well, for starters, I probably wouldn't need to drink so much, would I?

Tony Harris: And a toast to the bride's dermatologically-challenged family shrub...

Tony Harris: What do you say we slip in the back room and I show you my...
Buffy: You finish that sentence, and I guarantee you won't have anything to show.

Spike: You meet my friend?
Buffy: No, not yet. But she seems like a very nice attempt at making me jealous.

Buffy: But if you're wildly curious, yeah, it hurts.
Spike: I'm sorry. Oh... good!

Buffy: Go where? Your place?
Spike: Yeah, I suppose. That was the idea.
Buffy: Yeah.
Spike: Evil.
Buffy: Of course.

Spike: It's nice to watch you be happy. For them, even. I don't see it a lot. You glow.
Buffy: That's because the dress is radioactive.

Spike: But it hurts?
Buffy: Yeah.
Spike: Thanks.
Buffy: You're welcome.

Willow: I'll say this for the Y chromosome. Looks good in a tux.
Xander: Well, your double X's don't look too bad there, either.

Willow: It's a good thing I realized I was gay. Otherwise, hey, you, me and formalwear...

Anya: I, Anya, promise to cherish you. Eww, no. Not cherish. I promise to have sex with you whenever *I* want, and pledge to be your friend, your wife, your confidant, and your sex poodle.
Tara: Uh, sex poodle?
Anya: Yeah, what?
Tara: Um, I'm not sure you should say "sex poodle" in your vows.
Anya: Huh.

Buffy: Yeah, you know, he's not just a minister, he's also a doctor. You know, he's half minister, half doctor. He's a... minitor. Not, of course, to be confused with a minotaur, because he's all, you know, man-ness. Doctor minister man. No bull parts whatsoever.

Child: I'm bored.
Cousin Carol: It's a wedding, honey. We're all bored.

Xander: It's dead.
Buffy: Yup.
Willow: Is anyone waiting for it to go "poof"? Maybe we can cover it with flowers?

Buffy: They were supposed to be my light at the end of the tunnel. I guess they were a train.