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Angel : Cordélia, il me faut un pieu !
Codélia : Mais c'est pas l'moment d'dormir !

J'sais aps si c'est ma préférée, mais c'est toujours un des premières qui me viennent à l'esprit

Citation :

Angel : Cordélia, il me faut un pieu !
Codélia : Mais c'est pas l'moment d'dormir !

( Angel, S1, l'épisode avec Penn, donc je ne me souviens plus du titre, ni du numéro )

"SPIKE
Soul's not all about moonbeams and pennywhistles, luv. It's about self-loathing. I get it. Had to travel 'round the world, but I understand you now. I understand the violence inside.
BUFFY
Violence? William the Bloody now has insight into violence?
SPIKE
Not the same. As bad as I was, as evil and as wretched as I was, I never truly hated myself back then. Not like I do now."

You think you know. What's to come. What you are. You haven't even begun...

I have no speech, no name, I live in the action of death. The blood cry, the penetrating wound. I am destruction. Absolute. Alone.

The Slayer does not walk in this World

I wear the cheese. It does not wear me.

You're *not* friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love till it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends. Love isn't brains, children, it's blood... blood screaming inside you to work its will.

-Faith: "God, I could eat a horse. Isn't it crazy how slayin' just always makes you hungry and horny?"
Buffy: "Well... sometimes I-I crave a nonfat yogurt afterwards."

Faith: "Hey, as long as you don't go scratchin at me or humpin my leg, we're five-by-five, you know?"

silly you d'andrew

I's wroooongg de faith

he has a souullll nowwwwwww de buffy

(crying) I don't understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she's, (sniffling) there's just a body, and I don't understand why she just can't get back in it and not be dead anymore. It's stupid. It's mortal and stupid. (still teary) And, and Xander's crying and not talking, and, and I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch ever, and she'll never have eggs, or yawn or brush her hair, not ever, and no one will explain to me why.

Angel, Angel, Angel. Does every conversation we have have to come around to that freak? (notices Angel) Hey, man, how you doin'?

- just can't take all this mamby-pamby boo-hooing about the bloody indians
-You won. All right? You came in and you killed them and you took their land. That's what conquering nations do. It's what Caesar did, and he's not going around saying, "I came, I conquered, I felt really bad about it." The history of the world isn't people making friends. You had better weapons, and you massacred them. End of story.
-You exterminated his race. What could you possibly say that would make him feel better? It's kill or be killed here. Take your bloody pick.

- Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping... ...waiting... And though unwanted... ...unbidden... it will stir...open its jaws, and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have?
-Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief.
-It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank... Without passion, we'd be truly dead.

You're *not* friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love till it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends. (points at his temple) Love isn't brains, children, it's blood... (clasps his chest) blood screaming inside you to work its will. *I* may be love's bitch, but at least *I'm* man enough to admit it

This is what I do know: I miss you. Like, every second. Almost like I lost an arm, or worse, a torso. So, I think I'd be willing to... give it a shot.