Hole in the World:

Illyria: "This will do."

Shells:

Wesley: Illyria?
Illyria: My name ... You would presume to speak my name. Because I have returned in the body of a human, you think you can speak to me. It's disgusting.
Wesley: Who is Winifred Burkle?
Illyria: I thought the humans would have long died out by now. Instead, you've grown bold.
Wesley: So you don't know who Fred is.
Illyria: Nor care. Bleat at me no longer. We're done.

Illyria: You seek to save what's rotted through. This carcass is bound to me. I could not change that if I cared to, but you have opened my eyes to truth. If the world is truly overrun by humans ... then I have work to do.

Knox: I knew you'd come for me. My life is yours. I—I worship you.
Illyria: Yes, I know. Worship.

Illyria: My last Qwa'ha Xahn was taller.

Illyria: This world ... it's not how I left it.

Angel: You've taken something of ours, something very precious. Stand down and I promise we won't destroy you taking it back. Your choice.
Illyria: I decline.

Illyria: You've destroyed my Qwa'ha Xahn.
Spike: Yeah, OK, but you gotta admit, he had it coming.
Illyria: It offends me that you think he matters.

Illyria: Unimpressive.

Illyria: You're too late. My army will rise. This world will be mine once again.

Underneath:

Illyria: You drank a great deal of that poison. You called me a lot of names meant to hurt feelings I no longer have, and then you sat there for hours making noise with your nose.

Illyria: In my time, nightmares walked among us, walked and danced, skewering victims in plain sight, laying their fears and worst desires out for everyone to see. This to make us laugh.
Wesley: I'll bet you were jolly as frat boys.
Illyria: And now nightmares are trapped inside the heads of humans ... pitiful echoes of themselves. I wonder whom they angered so to merit such a fate.
Wesley: This world must be a terrible disappointment to you.
Illyria: Grievous.

Wesley: Are you telling me the great Illyria, idol of millions, was limited to one small dimension?
Illyria: I traveled all of them as I pleased. I walked worlds of smoke and half-truths, intangible. Worlds of torment and of unnameable beauty. Opaline towers as high as small moons. Glaciers that rippled with insensate lust. And one world with nothing but shrimp. I tired of that one quickly.

Illyria: It's too small. It's too small. I can't breathe. I can't live with these walls. I can't breathe. There's no room for anything real.
Wesley: It's all right.
Illyria: I should gut you where you stand. You challenged me. There's not enough space to open my jaws. My face is not my face. I don't know what it will say.

Illyria: All I am is what I am. I lived 7 lives at once. I was power and the ecstasy of death. I was god to a god. Now ... I'm trapped ... on a roof. Just one roof, in this time and this place, with an unstable human who drinks too much whiskey and called me a Smurf. You don't worship me at all, do you?

Origin:

Illyria: I enjoy hurting you.

Illyria: I've been hitting the half-breed. He makes noise.

Illyria: I would like to keep Spike as my pet.

Illyria: You are so concerned with names, dates, times.
Wesley: Reality's being changed.
Illyria: Define change. The world is as it is.

Time Bomb:

Illyria: You're adapting.
Spike: We do that.
Illyria: Adaptation is compromise.

Illyria: When the world met me, it shuddered, groaned. It knelt at my feet.
Spike: "Dear Penthouse, I don't normally write letters like this, but —"
Illyria: Illyria was all they needed to know.
Spike: Then came the Internet.
Illyria: You have nothing. Your kind has pulled this domain apart. Each of you has snatched a tiny piece of it. Even those with the mightiest hoards are paupers.
Spike: The one who dies with the most toys wins, eh?
Illyria: To never die ... and to conquer all, that is winning.

Illyria: Betrayal was a neutral word in my day, as unjudged a word as water or breeze. No. Or perhaps ... I am only bothered because I am bothered.
Wesley: That sounds very close to human.
Illyria: Motes of dust. Mayflies who die so soon after they're born they might as well not live at all.
Wesley: Now, now. Manners.

Illyria: Odd. It doesn't exist until it cracks apart.
Wesley: What's that?
Illyria: Time.
Wesley: You don't look altogether well.
Illyria: Your opinion of me weighs less than sunlight.

Illyria: What is it? Poison? Magicks? It impresses me, the power of it. Whatever you've done, it can't save you. To do anything but bow to my will is absurd, yet you conspire —
Angel: We haven't done anything to you.
Illyria: Jealous. Plankton envying the ocean that holds them.
Angel: Yeah, that's great. Listen, I got things —
Illyria: Ridiculous apes. My death won't prevent your dying.

Illyria: Do you know what you were when I was young? You were the muck at our feet. We called you "the ooze that eats itself." You were pretty at night. You sparkled, and you stank. You still stink of it!
Angel: Will you just shut up for once?!
Illyria: What?
Angel: My God, the speechifying. Has it ever occurred to you that now might not be the best time for when-we-were-muck stories?
Illyria: You dare to speak to me in this —
Angel: Yes, I dare. And, yes, we are looking for a way of controlling you any way that we can. I can't have an x-factor like you bouncing around unchecked.
Illyria: "Bouncing around"!
Angel: Yes, and I know you would do the same thing. I know that for a fact. But this is my kingdom, lady, not yours!
Illyria: Your kingdom! I am Illyria, god-king of the primordium, shaper of things!

Illyria: These are the fruits of your attempt to murder me. Your kingdom turned to ash and stale wind. I slew the white-haired one first.
Angel: This can't be.
Illyria: And then Wesley, as he raised his weapon ... and your demon clown as he wilted in terror.
Angel: And I'm next.
Illyria: No, vampire. You were last.

Angel: We attacked you.
Illyria: I didn't give you the chance. That you learn when you become a king. You learn to destroy everything that's not utterly yours. All that matters is victory. That's how your reign persists. You're a slave to an insane construct. You are moral. A true ruler is as moral as a hurricane, empty but for the force of his gale. But you ... trapped in the web of the Wolf, the Ram, the Hart. So much power here, and you quibble at its price. If you want to win a war, you must serve no master but your ambition.

Illyria: Change is constant. Yet things remain the same.

Illyria: You want to take my power ... to let me live. But I am my power. And I would rather be a titanic crater than be like unto you. I kill you. That's how this ends.

Illyria: I possess so much grace, more grace than this bag of sticks could express. I was the immaculate embodiment of rule. I blame this on the weakness of your species.

The Girl in Question:

Illyria: This fate is worse than death. Condemned to live out existence in a vessel incapable of sustaining my true glory. How am I to function with such limitation?

Illyria: Your grief hangs off of you like rotted flesh. I couldn't tolerate it from them as well. I thought this would be more convenient.

Power Play:

Illyria: Do not presume I require any creature's attention.

Illyria: I've seen this before with many rulers. Your leader has been corrupted.
Spike: Hey, hang on. In the first place, Angel's not my leader. In the second, what the bloody hell do you mean corrupted?
Illyria: It always begins the same. A ruler turns a blind eye to the dealings of battles from which he cannot gain and a deaf ear to the counsel of those closest to him. As his strength increases, so does the separation between he and his follow —
Spike: Shh. You smell that?
Illyria: The odors of everything in this world of men are equally repugnant to me.

Illyria: The intricacies of your fates are meaningless.

Drogyn: It is a test, a task of some sort. You must collect those crystals. And the fruit.
Illyria: Why?
Drogyn: Old one ... you have no right to walk this Earth. Your time is past. You belong to the well.
Illyria: Truly. I wish now I had never been brought out of it.
Drogyn: Do you?
Illyria: I don't know. I play this game ... it's pointless and annoys me ... and yet, I'm compelled to play on.

Not Fade Away:

Illyria: I will fight. I've been broken and humiliated. I will return in kind every blow, every sting. I will shred my adversaries. Pull their eyes out just enough to turn them towards their mewing, mutilated faces.
Wesley: You're a very inspirational person. Have I mentioned that?

Illyria: I'll make trophies of their spines.

Illyria: Wesley's dead. I'm feeling grief for him. I can't seem to control it. I wish to do more violence.

• Smurf
• Little Shiva
• The Leather Queen
• Babe the Blue Ox
• Blue
• Blue Meanie
• Blue Thunder
• Blue Bird
• god-king of the primordium, shaper of things
• the immaculate embodiment of rule
• walking obituary
• walking nightmare
• filthy harlot
• Highness
• Leery
• miss I used to rule the world, bow down before me, minion scum
• the god-king of the universe
• Wesley's little helper
• Our Lady of the Blue Bummer
• the king

Fighting
Ruling the World
Wesley
Staring into space
Beating up Spike
Having respect
Plants
Power
Feeling Appreciated
throwing people

Angel
Knox
Humans
The smell of this world
Being beaten
Val
Human grief
Alcohol
Small rooms
Being ignored, particularly by Wesley

• Talk to plants
• Alter the flow of time
• tear holes through dimensions
• Hit like a mac truck
• Modification of her form
• Smell emotion
• Retrieval of Winifred Burkle's memories.