“Six a.m.!" Xander cried. "I know that's a number on my clock, but I've never actually been awake to personally witness it!”

“Boys", Buffy hissed through clenched teeth, "being quiet is an important part of sneaking.""Oh, sorry", Xander said, reducing his voice to a whisper."Besides, ritual sacrifice is a religious rite", Giles went on quietly. "They wouldn't sacrifice just anyone at random. It's far more likely they'd suspect you of being a Roman spy scouting for the invasion and just outright kill you"."Oh great! Great! Way to be encouraging Giles. And I suppose you'll just watch that happen, in your Watchery way.”

“My vivid imagination, in conjunction with a Type Triple A, drive-it-to-the-ground personality, means that I conjure up all sorts of dire and dreadful scenarios for any given set of actual facts. The less probable the outcome, the more likely I am to come up with it, and I am fully capable of fancying an array of potential scenarios ranging from the mundane to everything that you find in a Bruce Willis movie.”

“I have everything I prayed for. I know most would condemn me and think I've lost my soul, but I know in my heart that I have not. What can be more precious than to find true love.”

“Persons desiring to know what love is might benefit more if they were able to understand what love is not.”

“What time was that email sent?" I asked, with my own cocky grin beginning to form across my face. Sara clicked around a few times and then said, "Two-oh-seven a.m." "Shit," Jack said quietyly while I laughed aloud. "I knew it! Your are so busted, Hamilton!" I cried. I was teasing him, but inwardly I was dancing like an imbecile.”

“Kolchak nodded, 'Right, because that would make sense." He took off his hat and crumpled it against his hip. 'When I lived in Seattle, I met a man who had been killing people for a hundred years easily. I nearly got arrested painting on his portrait in the bank he owned, just to match his face to the hundred-year-old shot I had of him with a beard. It's possible.' 'Why didn't you just take a picture of the painting and scribble on the picture?' 'It was a gesture,' Kolchak wrung his hands, 'and anyway that's not the point.' ("Wet Dog of Galveston")”