W: Oh my god, last night, the rehearsal dinner. That was like a zoo without the table manners.

B: I just can't believe everyone bought that story about Anya's people being circus folks. Did you see the guy with the tentacles? What's he supposed to be, Inky the Squid-boy?

W: Did you see how much they drank?
B: Kinda. Mr. Harris threw up in my purse.

K: Yeah, we met. You said I resembled your mother-in-law.
MH: Tony!
TH: Oh, yeah.
K: And then you hit me with a cocktail wiener, and then you insulted my heritage.

TH: I mean no disrespect, of course. I'm sure you come from a long, proud line of geeks.

CC: You know that guy Kevin? If he could clear up the skin problem, do you think - do you suppose he'd date a woman with a kid? I mean, I really can't afford to be very picky.

X: Now nothing on earth can stop this wedding, now.

B: It'll fit.
X: Ah, man, what if it doesn't? What if I can't wear my cummerbund, and then the whole world can see the place where my pants meet my shirt! Buffy, that cannot happen. I must wear das cummerbund!

X: I've been meaning to cut back on that habit-forming oxygen.

B: You're glowing. Oh my god - maybe you're pregnant!
X: Maybe. I don't know. Maybe I'm just happy.

X: Happy teary, not frustrated-with-bow-tie teary?

A: I, Anya, promise to love you, to cherish you, to honor you, but not to obey you, of course, because that's anachronistic and misogynistic, and who do you think you are, like a sea captain or something?

A: Blah blah blah, misogynistic, blah blah... I do, however, entrust you with my heart. Take care of my heart, won't you, please? Take care of it, because it's all that I have, and if you let me, I'll take care of your heart, too. I'll protect it and tend to it, like a little stray. Wait, no. Like a little mangy stray that needs a home.

A: Oh, I want to see Xander now!
W: You can't. It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress, remember?
A: Right. I can't keep all these ridiculous traditions straight. Well, what if I'm not wearing my dress when I see him? Okay, no sex. Cuddling?

R: It was my trade. I used to stuff things. I still do, but only for fun.

DH: Hymen's greetings.
D: Hy-what?
DH: Hymen, the god of matrimony. His salutations upon you. May the love we celebrate today avoid an almost inevitable decline.

D: I can put this on the table for you.
DH: Oh, thank you. Careful, it's, uh...
D: Fragile?
DH: Squirmy.

H: So, Dawnie, how's everything? Going good? Nothing you, uh, wish was different?
DH: Hallie, for yekks sake, take a day off. We're not here to do vengeance, we're here to mingle.

CC: The Harrises are very broad-minded. We're Episcopalians.

X: How do I look?
B: Well, let's see - found your shoes, your fly's zipped... I'd say you looked like you're ready to get married.

B: Now, into the breach with you.
X: Okay, breach me.

X: Now, let's go over the list one more time. Number 1...
B: Don't let your dad near the bar.
X: Check. Number 2...
B: Don't let your mom near the bar.
X: Check.

Old Guy: It sounds crazy, I knows, but you have to believe me. I'm Xander Harris. I'm you.
X: What do you mean, you're me?
Old Guy: I'm you. I'm you from the future.
X: Oh! From the future! For a minute I thought you were a nutball. But now that you're from the future...

TH: To my wife. What would I do without you, beautiful? Well, for starters, I probably wouldn't need to drink so much, would I?

TH: And a toast to the bride's dermatologically-challenged family shrub...

TH: What do you say we slip in the back room and I show you my...
B: You finish that sentence, and I guarantee you won't have anything to show.

S: You meet my friend?
B: No, not yet. But she seems like a very nice attempt at making me jealous.

B: But if you're wildly curious, yeah, it hurts.
S: I'm sorry. Oh... good!

B: Go where? Your place?
S: Yeah, I suppose. That was the idea.
B: Yeah.
S: Evil.
B: Of course.

S: It's nice to watch you be happy. For them, even. I don't see it a lot. You glow.
B: That's because the dress is radioactive.

S: But it hurts?
B: Yeah.
S: Thanks.
B: You're welcome.

W: I'll say this for the Y chromosome. Looks good in a tux.
X: Well, your double X's don't look too bad there, either.

W: It's a good thing I realized I was gay. Otherwise, hey, you, me and formalwear...

A: I, Anya, promise to cherish you. Eww, no. Not cherish. I promise to have sex with you whenever *I* want, and pledge to be your friend, your wife, your confidant, and your sex poodle.
T: Uh, sex poodle?
A: Yeah, what?
T: Um, I'm not sure you should say "sex poodle" in your vows.
A: Huh.

B: Yeah, you know, he's not just a minister, he's also a doctor. You know, he's half minister, half doctor. He's a... minitor. Not, of course, to be confused with a minotaur, because he's all, you know, man-ness. Doctor minister man. No bull parts whatsoever.

Child: I'm bored.
CC: It's a wedding, honey. We're all bored.

X: It's dead.
B: Yup.
W: Is anyone waiting for it to go "poof"? Maybe we can cover it with flowers?

B: They were supposed to be my light at the end of the tunnel. I guess they were a train.

Credit: The Sunnydale Slayers