Gina: You should make me your campaign manager. I was born for politics. I have great hair and I love lying.

Gina: Okay, here's what I found out about our competition. Brian Jensen, born 1899, served in the Navy during World War One. A hero at the battle of Scimitar Hill, Jensen perished in a factory fire in the Netherlands. This may be a different Brian Jensen.

Gina: All men are at least 30% attracted to me. My mother cried the day I was born, because she knew she would never be better than me. At any given moment, I'm thinking about one thing: Richard Dreyfuss hunkered over eating dog food. I feel like I'm the Paris of people.

Gina: What about dress-up shorts? For instance, the kind Jen Aniston might wear.
Sergeant Jeffords: No, those are still shorts. No shorts.

Sergeant Jeffords: Rosa, stick with Gina. Make sure she doesn't say anything insane. Or steal anything.
Gina: Too late. Don't worry, it's just like hats and scarves and stuff.

Rosa: Gina, what are you thinking about right now?
Gina: I was thinking how I would make the perfect American president, based upon my skill set, dance ability and bloodlust.

Gina: Sweet sweater, Charles. You look like you're starring in an Albanian remake of The Cosby Show. Dr. Huxtable, Dr. Huxtable.

Gina: I'd describe the workflow today as dismal with a tiny dash of pathetic.

Gina: Ahem. Hello, boys. Welcome to your own office. I hear you're trying to make the precinct more efficient.
Sergeant Jeffords: Gina, what are you doing in the Captain's chair?
Captain Holt: Please. I am open to any ideas about efficiency.
Gina: I have narrowed the problem down to one location. The Holt-Jeffords vortex. Things would go a lot faster if the two of you did less experimenting and more working. And I'm not the only one who thinks that.

Gina: First batch of arrest files is done-zo Washington.
Sergeant Jeffords: There's only three files here. It's been an hour.
Gina: Yeah, I know. It has not been a productive morning. For example, somebody used the toaster in front of Boyle. And then Boyle spent 30 minutes lecturing him on how to make a sandwich. I'd describe the work flow today as dismal with a tiny, little splash of pathetic.

Gina: Do you have any connections in the FBI or CIA? There's no one else I can turn to to solve this crime.
Captain Holt: Gina, you work in a police precinct. You can turn to anyone here.
Gina: You think these buffoons can help? They're buffoons.

Rosa: You don't have locks on your windows?
Gina: Way to blame the victim. Sorry I'm not rich like you, Ms. 1%.
Rosa: They cost $8. You have a fur bed spread.

Amy: Why do you have so many lycra body suits? And why do you need eight full drawers of underwear?
Gina: Because I'm civilized. Less talky-talk, more solvey-solve.

Captain Holt: $160 in cash. One TV. One large painting of a naked woman on a lion. One set of Joseph Gordon Levitt nesting dolls.
Amy: Wow.
Gina: Homemade and irreplaceable.
Captain Holt: One music box that plays "She Works Hard For The Money" when opened. One knock-off designer clutch.
Rosa: Can't you just buy another knock-off?
Gina: No, I Can't, silly Sue. 'cause the label no longer makes the original, so the sweatshop no longer makes the knock-off.

Rosa: Can you estimate the value of everything that was taken?
Gina: Emotionally? Seven hundred million dollars.