Captain Holt: Look at me. I can't keep a straight face. I played you like a fiddle.

Captain Holt: Is that how you plan on sitting? Leaning back like a matinee-goer? Madeline will eat you alive. That's no better. Hands folded on your lap like a pervert?

Captain Holt: Here are the transfer forms. Please don't-
Amy: Get any Jake on them? I'll put them in a sealed baggie.
Jake: Good call. All the drinks I'm bringing are blue.
Captain Holt: Naturally.

Captain Holt: Everyone I work with this is a stupidface. Especially Bryce.

Captain Holt: What's your plan?
Jake: I'm gonna work the case in secret.
Captain Holt: Wrong. We're gonna work the case in secret.

Captain Holt: If I recall correctly, the Oolong Slayer last struck five years ago.
He left behind no DNA or fingerprints, but he did leave his calling card, a tea bag in his victim's mouth.
Jake: Yeah, how cool - I mean awful is that?
Captain Holt: Very cool - I mean awful.

Captain Holt: Listen, I know I probably shouldn't get involved, but Marcus is my nephew, and I hope you'll let him down gently.
Rosa: Don't worry. I don't want things to be awkward.
I'm gonna send him a text while he's sleeping that says, "We're done."
Captain Holt: Clear. Accurate.
But do you feel like it's enough?
Rosa: "We're done. Good-bye."
Captain Holt: Yes. That should do it.

Rosa: Wait, are you crying?
Captain Holt: Yes. Thank you for acknowledging my feelings.
Rosa: Thank you for acknowledging mine.
Captain Holt: We're both great at this.

Captain Holt: Son of a bitch!
Gina: Okay, I misjudged that one.
Captain Holt: Oh, what did he do to you, Gertie? What did he do?
Charles: It was an accident, sir.
Captain Holt: Yes, an accident: The buffoon's apology. This is your fault, mister.
Gina: Interesting. Charles? Do you feel that's the case?
Charles: Um, your car is pretty far over the line. Mm. So it's kind of your fault too.
Captain Holt: Pass the blame. The buffoonery is endless. You're gonna pay for what you've done. And it won't be cheap. They'll have to custom-mix the color because they no longer make raspberry sherbet.

Nick: I don't know where Garibaldi is, all right? It's not like we were close. I was just his trainer at the gym.
Captain Holt: Then why were you always going out to dinner with him? Was he doing reps of linguine?
Jake: Noice!

Doctor: So you both have the mumps. Sorry to say, it's very contagious. You may not want to be here, detective.
Amy: Oh, it's cool. I keep up to date on all my vaccinations. I'm immune to stuff you've never even heard of.
Captain Holt: But not immune to braggadocio.

Captain Holt: Debbie, it's just too much.
Debbie: What happened?
Captain Holt: Wait till you hear. Kevin is all, "Hey, man, I'm leaving for Paris," And I said, "Then go already. I don't care," but I do care, and now I'm like, "Where's Kevin?"
Debbie: Well, I didn't know y'all had all of that going on.
Captain Holt: Ugh, no one understands me. And now you're here, and I love you, but, like, it's a lot. Everything in my life is a hot mess right now.
Debbie: Damn.

Captain Holt: All right, everyone, enough morning chitchat. Television happened, commutes were difficult, Boyle had a dream.

Captain Holt: Hmm, I saw you perform Bach's "Oboe Sonata in G Minor" at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. I was in the front row.
Mr. Weichselbraun: You were escorted out for gasping too loudly.

Captain Holt: This is John William Weichselbraun, the Silver Spit Prince! I'm making myself primary detective on this case. You can wait in the car. Oh, but first, take a picture of the two of us together. Make sure we're laughing.