Lorne: OK, um, professional opinion? Uh...sexy soccer mama or brainy beauty? You're an aging sexpot celebrating a decade of turning 29. You got 2 little rugrats that aren't that little, a husband who thinks the extras trailer is a buffet table, and gravity ain't doing you any favors. So "Happy Birthday, Sexy Mama" or... Fred. Hey, Fred, sweetie, you're sorta like a woman.
Fred: Oh, that's... not a compliment.
Lorne: Well, I mean, more so than El Cid here. I need some insight. You're an aging—
Fred: I heard. Don't send a card, don't mention her birthday, send a big bunch of flowers just because she's special and perfect and eternally blah-di-blah.
Lorne: Huh! Staring me right in the face. Genius.
Fred: And I'm a lot like a woman.
Lorne: Oh, you're all woman. You're everywoman. You're Wonder Woman!
Fred: Damn straight.

Angel: Is that blood?
Gunn: Yeah, but it's OK. It's yours.
Angel: Huh. And how is that OK?

Gunn: As C.E.O. and president of Wolfram & Hart, you just bankrupted a company that dumps raw demon waste into Santa Monica bay, banished a clan of pyro warlocks into a hell dimension, and started a foster care program for kids whose parents have been killed by vampires. Not bad for a day's pay.
Angel: Yeah. Great.
Gunn: Look, I know legal weasels and business deals aren't as heroic to you as rescuing young honeys from tumescent trolls, but I love what we do.
Angel: Tumescent...trolls?
Gunn: Went a little Johnnie Cochran on ya. You know, for the first time in my life, I can't wait to get to work in the morning. You've always had your special powers. Now I have mine.

Spike: Isn't that special! We all have special powers. Anybody wanna trade? I'll swap ya two-for-one. Walking through walls, picking up mugs... in exchange for... I don't know, how about me not being dead?
Angel: How about you not being here?
Spike: If wishes were horses...

Angel: I know, I'm just... I don't know, just feeling a bit...
Spike: Squishy?
Angel: Disconnected.
Spike: Are you serious? Here you are, finally living a piece of the high life—new clothes, new cars, my old tumble fetching you tasty snacks—and what's your gripe? "I feel disconnected." You want to feel disconnected, try being a bloody ghost for a bit. Try bobbin' around with no touch or taste or smell. Not many fates worse than that, I'd wager.

Angel: Ow!
Wesley: What happened?
Angel: The mail guy threw me.
Gunn: What?!
Spike: Number 5?! He did this? Isn't he like 100 years old?
Angel: Kinda hard to tell with the mask.

Spike: Hey! Fred! Did ya hear? Angel attacked the old mail guy.
Angel: What?!
Fred: Not number 5? You didn't hurt him?
Angel: No. I— He attacked me.
Wesley: We should find him.
Spike: Absolutely. Wanna buy him a pint. Bloody made my day.

Lorne: Holy tornado! It's true!
Spike: Yeah. It was amazing. Angel went right off on the mail guy.
Lorne: Oh, this must've been one major smackdown.
Angel: There was no smacking.
Lorne: That's not the hubbub I'm hearing, honeybuns. Word on the web has you sucker-punching Grandpa Moses.
Angel: The web?
Lorne: Don't sweat it, sweetie pie. I've got my flak catcher spinning this into P.R. gold. Once the word spreads you beat up an innocent old man, well, the truly terrible will think twice before going toe-to-toe with our avenging Angel.
Spike: Yes. The geriatric community will be soiling their nappies when they hear you're on the case. Bravo.

Gunn: Still not sure why blondie ghost tagged along.
Spike: Not much choice really, is there? Can't drink, smoke, diddle my willy. Doesn't leave much to do other than watch you blokes stumble around playing Agatha Christie.
Wesley: Yeah, remind me again how you ended up in the front seat.
Spike: Called shotgun, mate.
Wesley: Oh. I thought we were doing a weapons check.

Gunn: Notice no matter how uptown we go, we always wind up in some stanky hole in the middle of the night?

Fred: Hmm. Demonoid entropy patterning couldn't hurt. If you're trying to find out what this thing's made of, it's gonna take a while.
Spike: Couldn't care less. I'm just trying to put as much distance between myself and general grumpypants as my ghost leash allows.
Fred: He just gets like that sometimes. Not easy being a champion. You know that.
Spike: Really don't.
Fred: Come on. You saved the world, sacrificed yourself, closed a hellmouth.
Spike: Didn't do much, really. I just stood there... let the fire come. Nothin' real heroic about that.
Fred: Well, you did save my life.
Spike: Well, when you say it like that...

Spike: So... you could look up that, uh... sans shoes thingamabob. You know, the prophecy that says that Angel gets to be a real boy again.
Wesley: Shanshu prophecy, yes. Uh, though it's a bit more complicated than that.
Spike: Complicated.
Wesley: It tells of an epic, apocalyptic battle and a vampire with a soul who plays a major role in that battle. And there's the suggestion that the vampire will get to live again.
Spike: When you say, "plays a major role in an apocalyptic battle," you mean like, um... heroically closing a hellmouth that was about to destroy the world?
Wesley: The text isn't specific about the battle.
Spike: But it's specific about the name of the vampire with a soul.
Wesley: No, I imagine it could be any vampire with a soul... who isn't a ghost.

Angel: Hi. Unh! Stop doing that.
Number 5: Perhaps I wasn't clear in our last conversation.
Angel: What conversation? You threw me through a window.
Number 5: I heard you speaking. You were going to drag me into your quest for the Aztec demon.
Angel: No, I wasn't. I was gonna give you some mail.
Number 5: Oh. Sorry.

Number 5: You need to understand. We were more than just luchadores. No one else cared about Mexicans or Chicanos, so we protected our own. The five of us were always joined, always connected. And when necessary, we came together as a fist. We fought monsters and gangsters. Vampiros. We were heroes. We protected the weak... and we helped the helpless.
Angel: I know a little something about that.

Number 5: Surely you have heard about our great victory over the devil's robot?
Angel: Sorry.
Number 5: Nobody remembers the good stuff.

Number 5: I needed a job. They needed muscle. I knew that Wolfram & Hart was everything my brothers despised. But what did I care? Nothing mattered after I buried them behind San Gregorio. Every year on El Dia de Los Muertos, I prepare this altar for them. And every year, they never come, never visit. Because I am not worthy. But it does not matter anymore. Not after this year. I should have died with my brothers.
Angel: But you didn't. You got stuck with the hard part, the carrying-on. No wonder your brothers' spirits never come to visit. Listen to yourself. You've quit. Tell me: Why'd you stop caring?
Number 5: It was not hard.

Number 5: This is how my brothers are remembered, what their good deeds earned. They sacrificed their lives as heroes, and it is played out as a farce.
Angel: Maybe you expect too much from people.
Number 5: Is it too much to expect them to remember their past? To honor those that fought and died? My brothers are dead, and Tezcatcatl is back to kill again. Why did we bother? What difference did we make?
Angel: You made a difference in the lives you saved. And you did it because... it was the right thing to do. Nobody asks us to go out and fight, put our lives on the line. We do it because we can, 'cause we know how. We do it whether people remember us or not, in spite of the fact that there's no shiny reward at the end of the day... other than the work itself. I think some part of you still knows that, still believes in being a hero.

Wesley: I'd forgotten that Aztec culture was so violent.
Gunn: Yeah, 'cause our culture's so at peace.
Wesley: All right, but by and large, we don't eat our victims.

Angel: So you think this demon is eating the hearts of heroes, huh? Well, it's an interesting theory, and I can see where your research might seem to support that, but... your theory kinda fell apart in the field.
Wesley: Angel, I know you've been through a horrible ordeal, and I'm not trying to—
Angel: The reason why I know this Aztec demon is not eating the hearts of heroes is... he didn't take mine. Am I honestly supposed to believe that it had no problem sticking a sword in my stomach but then decided, "Oh, wait, his heart's not heroic enough"? Ha! I don't think so.
Wesley: I understand you're feeling rejected. But this Aztec warrior... it wants the hearts for sustenance. It wants it for the meat, not the metaphor.
Angel: What are you saying?
Gunn: As meat goes, your heart's a dried-up hunk of gnarly-ass beef jerky.
Angel: Yeah, well, stick a piece of wood in it, and I still die. Must mean something.

Angel: Wes, did you ever hear that the devil built a robot?
Wesley: El Diablo Robotico. Why?
Angel: Nobody ever tells me anything.

Wesley: I didn't say you weren't working. I'm just saying your heart's not in the work.
Angel: Well, yeah, you know, I've been feeling a little bit, uh...
Wesley: Disconnected. Yes, I've heard. But I think it's more serious than that. You blame your melancholy on your new position, but I don't think it's about the type of work. I think it's because you've lost hope that the work has meaning.
Angel: Of course it has meaning. We save people's lives.
Wesley: I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about you. It's lost meaning for you. Spike says you no longer believe in the Shanshu prophecy.
Angel: Of course not. The prophecies are nonsense. You know that. Oh, come on, Wes, after everything we've seen the past couple of years? "The father will kill the son."
Wesley: What are you talking about?
Angel: Look, we're getting the work done. As long as I keep doing what I do, doesn't matter if I believe in the Shanshu or any other prophecy.
Wesley: I'm sorry, Angel, but nothing matters more. Hope: It's the only thing that will sustain you, that will keep you from ending up like Number 5.

Number 5: Mis hermanos, they came back.
Angel: Because you're worthy. You proved it.
Number 5: Maybe. But still the demon did not want my heart.
Angel: He didn't want mine, either.
Number 5: Of course not, amigo. Who would want that dried-up walnut of a dead thing? ...c-coffee...
Angel: Coffee? You want coffee?
Number 5: !Estupido! The talisman. It's in... I may not be a hero, but I am not a fool.