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Apollo: Services for the dead. Services will commence at eleven hundred hours on the forward hangar deck. Mid-ship's hangar deck remains closed for investigation and clean-up until further notice. (The camera pans over the pilots; there are a lot of empty seats.) Uniforms for the services will be dress grays. I wish I knew what to say. Words to make this better. Can anything make this better, I don't know.
***
Cottle: You are obviously an intelligent, well-educated young woman. Would you mind explaining to me why you waited five years in between breast exams?
Laura Roslin: Yes, I would mind, it's none of your business. Ahh. I was busy.
Cottle: And now here you are.
***
Roslin : I would like to explore alternate treatment.
Cottle : Prayer?
Roslin: Witty. Have you ever heard of Kamala extract?
Cottle: Oh gods. You're one of those.
Roslin: What if it works?
Doctor: All the evidence on Kamala is anecdotal. It's nothing but a bunch of loose talk and false hope.
Roslin: I take that as a yes.
Doctor: All right. I'll, um, I'll put out a med request to the civilian fleet. Maybe there's some other wide-eyed dreamer out there with a secret horde of Kamala extract in their luggage. You can put your clothes back on now.
Roslin: Thank you.
Doctor: And for what it's worth, I would... seriously... consider prayer.
***
Starbuck : Pilots call me Starbuck; you may refer to me as God.
***
Guy: (to one of the other trainees) She's laying it on a little thick.
Starbuck: Costanza, right?
Guy: Uh, yes... God... sir.
Starbuck: Not anymore. From now on, your name is Hot Dog, and when God speaks, Hot Dog, you listen.
***
Adama: Do your job.
Kara : Yes, sir.
Adama: And walk out of this cabin while you still can.
