The Vulture: You were working a case. I freaking knew it. You're a liar.
Madeline Wuntch: And you. You can't do anything except disobey orders and screw up.
Bob: I'm disappointed, too.
Madeline Wuntch: No one cares, Bob.

Madeline Wuntch: What the hell, Raymond? You were following me?
Captain Holt: I don't know what you're talking about. I've been here the whole time.
Madeline Wuntch: My mistake. These two goons were carrying a dirty old mop that looked exactly like you.

Captain Holt: We're here are about a new and very potent for ecstasy that has surfaced in our precinct; street name, giggle pig.
Madeline Wuntch: Hmm, an embarrassing blight growing right under your nose. Not unlike that moustache you had when we first met.
Captain Holt: That moustache was era-appropriate.

Madeline Wuntch: I like what you've done with your office, Raymond. It's cozy. Like a shoebox one buries a dead hamster in.

Jake: Wait a minute, I think I just figured something out. I got to go.
Gina: Aren't you forgetting something?
*Jake gives Gina a kiss on the forehead*
Gina: Uh no, pay your bill! Damn, who raised you?

Captain Holt: Let's not overlook the fact that he turned his crime scenes into tea parties for dollies.
Gina: Which suggests pre-adolescent trauma leading to a pattern of criminality that probably began as a juvenile. I'm taking an abnormal psych class, and everyone in it is obsessed with me.

Madeline Wuntch: Oh, there it is. The shriveled husk of Raymond Holt.
Captain Holt: Look, Gina, is that a talking raisin?
Madeline Wuntch: Enough foreplay.