Spiral

Glory: "Last words, Slay-runt?"
Buffy: "Just one... Truck."

Dawn: "And then whoosh! All of a sudden Glory's standing right there in front of us, all skanky and blonde and thinking she's all bad just 'cuz some bumpy heads kiss her stinky feet...she does have nice feet ....and she's coming right at us and Buffy's just standing there, not even blinking, like "Bring it on!" and wham! Hell-Bitch in orbit."
Xander: "Go, Buff!"
Giles: "I knew you'd best Glory eventually, I mean all our years of training..."
Buffy: "A truck hit her."
Giles: "Oh."

Anya: "Run away? ... Finally, a sensible plan!"

Ben: "You know why I wanted to become a doctor?"
One of Glory's Minions: "Flattering drawstring pants?"

Spike: "Buckle-up, kids! Daddy's putting the hammer down!
Spike: "We'd already be somewhere if Captain Slowpoke would give up the wheel. Hey, Gramps! Bloody step on it!
Giles: "Step on what? I've driven tricycles with more power.

Dawn: "Any luck?"
Willow: "If you define 'luck' as 'the absence of success', plenty."

Dawn: "Hey, I think Anya's gonna try to cook. Want to come watch the tears and recriminations?"

Anya: "You have another plan, right? One that doesn't involve pointy knives and a Winnebago?"

Xander: "Whoa! Hey! This is war, isn't it? If there's one thing I've learned from Sergeant Rock is that in war there are rules... or at least there should be if you're as honorable as you think you are. Plus we do have your General Forehead guy."

Xander: "How're your feelers?"
Spike: "Nothing compared to the little bits we're gonna be chopped into when the Renaissance Faire kicks the door in."

Willow: "Come on, Tara! You have to eat something."
Anya: "Want me to try?"
Willow: "I don't know. I'm getting used to picking fruit out of my hair."