Amy: Maybe we should talk about deets for the case. Plan our next move. Grab some chow.
Captain Holt: No need. I brought these. Nutrition bricks. I have original no flavor, and whole wheat no flavor.

Captain Holt: Nothing's okay. Wuntch, circling me like a shark frenzied by chum. The task force turning into a career-threatening quagmire. An Internal Affairs investigation casting doubt upon my integrity. And you ask, is everything okay? I am buffeted by the winds of my foe's enmity and cast about by the towering waves of cruel fate. Yet I, a Captain, am no longer able to command my vessel, my precinct, from my customary helm, my office. And you ask, is everything okay? I've worked the better part of my years on earth overcoming every prejudice and fighting for the position I hold, and now I feel it being ripped from my grasp, and with it the very essence of what defines me as a man. And you ask, is everything okay?

Jake: It's the most fun day of the year. Something you wouldn't understand because you're not programmed to feel joy.
Captain Holt: Yes, but my software is due for an exuberance upgrade.

Madeline Wuntch: Hello, Raymond. How do you like my new office? Twentieth floor.
Captain Holt: Yes, I never thought I'd see you this high without a broom under you.

Gina: Is she crying?
Jake: A little.
Gina: You should be wailing you stone-cold bitch. Now call my other grandma.

Captain Holt: He was a great partner. Smart, loyal, homophobic, but not racist. In those days that was pretty good.

Jake: How much could I possibly owe you? Fifty, sixty bucks?
Sergeant Jeffords: Two thousand, four hundred and thirty seven dollars.
Jake: Dollars?! Wait, of course dollars. Why was that the part I was surprised by?