Baltar: Its all so pointless. We kill them, and they kill us, so we kill more of them, so they kill more of us. What's the point anymore?
Virtual Six: You, your race, invented murder. Invented killing for sport, greed, envy. Its man's one true art form.

Baltar: Love is a strange and wonderful thing chief -- you be happy you experienced it all -- even if it was with a machine.

Baltar: Please God. I'm not asking You this one last time. Don't let this child die. Has he sinned against You? He can't have sinned against You. He's not even had a life yet. How can You take him and let me live. After all I've done. Really, if You want someone to suffer, take me. We both know I deserve it. I've been selfish and weak. I have failed so many people. And I have killed. I'm not asking for Your forgiveness. I'm just asking that You spare the life of this innocent child. Don't take him. Take me. Take me, take me, please.

Baltar: So who or what are you, exactly?
Virtual Six: I am an angel of God sent here to protect you. To guide you, to love you.
Baltar: To what end?
Virtual Six: To the end of the human race.

Baltar: What have you done to deserve this punishment? What sins have you committed? What dark thoughts have you harbored, that condemn you, condemn you, to wander through the universe without hope, without light.So you have to ask yourself - What kind of a father abandons his own children to despair and loneliness? Perhaps we are not the ones in need of forgiveness. Perhaps we're not. Perhaps we have been wrong. Perhaps it is God who should come down here and beg for OUR forgiveness! Am I right? Am I right?

Baltar: Which leads me to the inescapable conclusion that Cylons are, in the final analysis, little more than toasters... with great-looking legs.

Boomer: It's the Rebel Baseship. I think they're gonna attack! They're gonna blow the hub!
Number One: That would be mass murder. Death would be permanent for all of us! They've gone insane.
D'Anna: Permanent death? Well that makes this a lot more meaningful. [Snaps Number One's neck]

Brother Cavil: Do you know how useless prayer is? Chanting, and singing, and mucking about with old half-remembered lines of bad poetry? And you know what it gets you? Exactly nothing.
Tyrol: Are you sure that you're a priest?

Cain: Sometimes, we have to leave people behind, so that we can go o­n. So that we can continue to fight. Sometimes, we have to do things that we never thought we were capable of, if o­nly to show the enemy our will. Yesterday, you showed me that you were capable of setting aside your fear, setting aside your hesitation, and even your revulsion -- every natural inhibition that during battle can mean the difference between life and death. When you can be this for as long as you have to be, then you're a razor. This war is forcing us all to become razors because if we don't, we don't survive. And then we don't have the luxury of becoming simply human again.

Cally: But I've known the Chief for years. He's no toaster!
Baltar: He was involved with Lieutenant Valerii, who most certainly is a toaster.
Virtual Six: That word is racist. I don't like it.
Cally: Sure, he showed some bad judgment getting involved with her, but that doesn't mean he's a toaster! You've got to help him.
Virtual Six: Say something, Gaius. Tell her you won't have racial epithets used in your presence.
Baltar: I'm very sorry. I was going to tell the Colonel there's nothing I can do. The Cylon detector I developed doesn't work. Clearly.
Cally: No. You've got to help him.
Virtual Six: Your child's gonna be half toaster. How does that make you feel?
Baltar: Nothing would make me happier.

Caprica Sharon: [to Commander Adama] It's what you said at the ceremony before the attack, when Galactica was being decommissioned. You gave a speech, it sounded like it wasn't the one you prepared. You said that humanity was a flawed creation, and that people still kill one another for petty jealousy and greed. You said that humanity never asked itself why it deserved to survive. Maybe you don't.

Caprica Six: [to a baby whose neck she is about to snap] There there. It's okay. You're not gonna have to cry much longer.

Caprica-Six: I want the pain. It's how I learn. I was instrumental in the destruction of humanity, but at the same time I learned, because...because I fell in love...with a human man, and he was mortal and fallible. And he had this incredible pride in himself. He thought he knew everything there was to know. And I loved him, with my whole heart. And then one day, I realized I wouldn't have him forever. I understood what I'd done. How I betrayed him and humanity. And that pain taught me to understand death. Baltar could die. And I loved him. Baltar's heart was ephemeral. Baltar's body was fragile in my hands.

Caprica-Six: Look, God loves you.
Sharon "Boomer" Valerii: [showing photo of her Galactica crewmates] This is love. These people loved me. I loved them. I didn't pretend to feel something so I could screw people over. I loved them. And then I betrayed them. I shot a man I loved. Frakked over another man, ruined his life. And why? Because I'm a lying machine. I'm a frakking Cylon!

Chief Tyrol: I've known people from Aerelon. You don't sound anything like them.
Gaius Baltar: I don't sound like I'm from Aerelon?
Tyrol: No.
Baltar: Well, you know, I take that as a particular compliment. I don't know about you, but I've always founds the Aerelon dialect to be particularly hard on the ears. [affects a Yorkshire accent] Something about the consonants that scrape the back of the throat. [murmurs] Of course, I should know an awful lot about my native tongue; I spent hours on end trying to overcome it. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a ten-year-old boy to change the way he speaks? To unlearn everything he ever learned so that one day, one day there might be the small hope that he might be considered as not comin' from Aerelon? Maybe... I don't know... [switches back to Received Pronunciation.] Caprica. Caprican. Oh, to be Caprican. The seat of politics, culture, art, science, learning. And what was Aerelon, just a drab, ugly rock condemned to be the food basket for the Twelve Worlds. And that's how we were treated: like servants, like laborers, like working class. You know, you'd have fitted right in there, Chief. Lots of men who [switches back to Yorkshire accent] liked to work with their hands and, grab a pint down t'pub, and finish off the evening with a good old-fashioned fight.[switches back to Received Pronunciation] Oh yes, I left Aerelon after my eighteenth birthday. I turned my back on my family, on my heritage. All of them. 'Course it doesn't matter, that. They're all dead now.