Jake: Wow. Never thought I'd live to see Holt side with the Vulture and Wuntch. Mark the day, Gina. May 18th at 4:00 p.m.
Gina: Oh, honey. We're well into October.

Gina: It's Gina's phone. Leave me a voice-mail. I won't check it 'cause it's not 1993.

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

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.

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.