Zoë Washburne

— If anyone gets nosy, you know, just... shoot 'em.
— Shoot 'em?
— Politely.

Zoe: — No one's gonna force you to go, Jayne. As has been stated, this job is strictly speculative.
Jayne Cobb: — Good. Don't know these folks. Don't much care to.
"Mal": — They're whores.
Jayne Cobb: — I'm in.

— I know somethin' ain't right.
— Sweetie, we're crooks. If everything were right, we'd be in jail.

— When you can't run, you crawl... and when you can't crawl, you... when you can't do that...
— You find someone to carry you.

— Proximity alert. We must be coming up on something.
— Oh, my God. What can it be? We're all doomed! Who's flying this thing? Oh, right. That would be me. Uh, back to work.

— And then came the lying to me about it... which for me, is the highlight of this little adventure.
— Am I gonna get out of this with honour and dignity?
— You're pretty much down to ritual suicide, lambie-toes.

Sir, I think you have a problem with your brain being missing.