Rupert Giles tells lies.
He agrees with Buffy that it is a simple matter of what camp one is in. That you can tell by the headed notepaper which is which, because she wonders why Angel never told her about the career move, and he knows he'd have been tempted himself, and kept it from her too.
He tells Andrew that he has the makings of a Watcher: because the boy so wants to fit in, to have something, someone to follow, and it might stop him prattling on about Spike's noble sacrifice.
He reassures Willow that the inherent goodness of her heart and the love of her partner will keep her from the pull of darkness: because she consulted him about the spell which 'went weird' last week, and he knows the book it came from by heart. He thought he'd destroyed the only copy.
He emails the survivors of the destruction of the Council. He promises restoration: that it will be nothing like it was, and that nothing of essence will be lost, because none of them think he's the man for the job, and they may be right.
He looks Xander in the eye and says he can do nothing about the impairment; that healing magicks can't be invoked reliably enough. That, given time, he'll no doubt adjust, because when Xander came back from Africa, he told them he could lose the other eye someday to a tropical infection, and what about some insurance: and at first Giles thought he was making a joke.
He teaches the Slayers that they have a choice now: because one of the youngest of them asked him what her 'responsibility' was, and he actually had to think about it for a moment.
He counsels fortitude, perseverance, hard work, and 'nil desperandum', because Dawn, in philosophical mood, debated aloud what the point of it all was, if evil never stops coming, and he gave up on philosophy thirty years ago.
He would say that if one has worthwhile work, the honour and privilege of a sacred destiny, it's more than enough for any man. That he's had a good life with few regrets; that he's far too busy to be lonely. Should anyone ever enquire.