Anya: We're just kinda thrown by the, you having sex with Spike.
Buffy: The who whatting how with huh?
Anya: Okay, that's denial. That comes before anger.
Buffy: I am not having sex with Spike.
Anya: Anger.
Xander: No one is judging you. It's understandable. Spike is strong and mysterious and sort of compact but well-muscled...
Buffy: I am not having sex with Spike, but I'm starting to think you are.
Giles: Dear god, Buffy, there's only so much I can take. We're going to have to change the system. A fourteen-year-old's too old to be babysat, and it's not fair on her.
Buffy: What'd she make you do?
Giles: Um, well, we listened to aggressively cheerful music sung by people chosen for their ability to dance. Then we ate cookie dough, and talked about boys.
Anya: How do I know you won't make another pass at Xander as you did two years ago when he was with Cordelia?
Willow: Hello? Gay now.
Xander: You're considered somewhat cool.
Oz: I am?
Xander: Is it because you always tend to express yourself in short, non-commital sentences?
Oz: Could be.
Xander: So, Buffy, how'd the slaying go last night?
Buffy: Xander.
Xander: I mean, how'd the *laying* go? No, I don't mean that either.
Xander: So, we Bronzin' it tonight?
Willow: Wednesdays, kinda beat...
Xander: Well, we could grind our enemies into talcum powder with a sledgehammer, but, gosh, we did that last night.
Buffy: Have I ever let you down?
Giles: Do you want me to answer that, or shall I just glare?
Xander: Yeah, I'm gonna have to go with deadboy on this one.
Angel: Could you not call me that?
Buffy: I'm sorry, it's just been a really weird day.
Xander: Yeah, Buffy died and everything.
Willow: Wow, harsh.
Cordelia: And if you get me out of this, I swear I'll never be mean to anyone ever again. Unless, they really deserve it or if it's that time of the month, in which case I don't think you or anyone else can hold me responsible...
Joyce: You belong in a good old fashioned college with keg parties and boys. Not here with Hellmouths and vampires.
Buffy: Not really seeing the distinction.
Buffy: Oh, look at my poor neck... all bare and tender and exposed. All that blood, just pumping away.
Giles: Oh, please.
Spike: Giles, make her stop.
Giles: If those two don't kill each other, I might lend a hand.
"If there was a Mount Rushmore for Broadway scores, "West Side Story" would be front and center. It snaps, it crackles it pops! It surges with a roar, its energy and sheer life undiminished by the years" - NYPost reviewer Elisabeth Vincentelli