O'Neill: We would just like you to go away!
Sam: Sir! What happened?
O'Neill: Oh, God. Hathor's... gone.
Sam: What about you?
O'Neill: Cold. A little chilly. But... I'm me. I'm me.
O'Neill: All right. (tucks his handgun away) Blow that C4 the minute the cavalry comes through that Gate.
Sam: What if they don't?
O'Neill: (incredulous) What if they *don't*?
Sam: They will.
O'Neill: Certainly not those lying, scheming, no good for nothing slimy overdressed...
Carter: Sir!
O'Neill: ...style mongers.
O'Neill: Can't blame a girl for trying.
Carter: Sir, he's not Goa'uld.
O'Neill: And? But, so, therefore?
