CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (2000– )
Greg Sanders: Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer. Swab one down, run it through CODIS, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall.
Catherine Willows: Hey, you.
Warrick Brown: Hey.
Catherine Willows: How uh... are you holding up?
Warrick Brown: I'm fine.
Catherine Willows: You sure?
Warrick Brown: Yeah.
Catherine Willows: ...you're in the women's bathroom.
[liquid from the trunk of a car containing two corpses splashes up onto Greg's face and into his mouth]
Sara Sidle: Technically, that makes you a cannibal. Grissom would be proud.
Greg Sanders: Grissom would have tasted it on purpose.
Greg Sanders: All work and no play makes Greg a dull boy.
Gil Grissom: All play and no work makes Greg an UNEMPLOYED boy.
Catherine Willows: You know how you're always pushing that holy trinity stuff?
Gil Grissom: Father, Son and Holy Ghost?
Catherine Willows: Victim, suspect, crime scene.
Gil Grissom: That one, huh?
Gil Grissom: I just got a page from James Watson.
Nick Stokes: And I got one from Francis Crick. What's going on, Greg?
Greg Sanders: Well, as you both know, Watson and Crick are the granddaddies of DNA. Without their discoveries, I'd have nothing to do all day.
Nick Stokes: What have you been doing all day?
Gil Grissom: So, let's see. You surf, you scuba dive. You're into latex, you like fashion models and Marilyn Manson. And you also have a coin collection?
Greg Sanders: Weird, ha?
Gil Grissom: Well, I race cockroaches!
[identifying an insect at a crime scene]
Gil Grissom: Dermastidae masculatus.
Sara Sidle: That's Latin for "You're hiding a dead body."
Catherine Willows: Never doubt. Never look back. That's how I live my life.
Gil Grissom: I admire that.
[Cath stares at the body of her deceased ex-husband]
Dr. Al Robbins: Catherine, you can't say goodbye in an autopsy room.
Catherine Willows: We're mid-case. Why do we have to do this now?
Gil Grissom: Well, unless I get these evaluations in, I'll be written up.
Catherine Willows: My goals... all right, for starters, I'd like two consecutive nights off. I would like to cut my triples down to 10 instead of the usual 20, and I would love to find a reliable babysitter so I could have myself some kind of a personal life.
Gil Grissom: You don't have a personal life?
Catherine Willows: Write this down: I haven't had sex in six - no, seven months.
Gil Grissom: How can I help?
[Her eyes widen]
Gil Grissom: You. Advance, I mean.
Nick Stokes: Well, it takes 10 minutes to drive from the clinic to Industrial Road.
Warrick Brown: Yeah?
Nick Stokes: Yeah, I had Greg run it.
Warrick Brown: [laughing] That's classic!
Nick Stokes: [Greg opens a cupboard and pulls out a book] I thought that's where you kept your porn.
Greg Sanders: I move it around.
Greg Sanders: Bringing back a semen sample... I analyzed this and found your DNA.
Nick Stokes: That was quick.
Greg Sanders: No jokes about my being fast in this department.
Nick Stokes: Hah.
Hodges: I didn't page you.
Nick Stokes: No. I just figured I'd come by.
Hodges: You're checking up on me again.
Nick Stokes: No, I'm checking up on my evidence.
Hodges: Do you think if you hover the FTIR will work faster?
Nick Stokes: Yes, Hodges, that's what I think.
[after telling Grissom something that Grissom already knows]
Greg Sanders: I guess I should stop trying to impress you.
Gil Grissom: That would impress me.
Greg Sanders: I had to send this to an outside lab since we're not equipped to carry out bacterial DNA analysis. Hint, hint.
[Grissom admits to a mistake]
Gil Grissom: What?
Nick Stokes: Well, it's just that most people don't admit to being wrong.
Gil Grissom: I'm wrong all the time. It's how I get to "right".
Gil Grissom: Sometimes I can be a little thoughtless.
Catherine Willows: I wouldn't say that. Not just any guy would walk a girl to the morgue.
Nick Stokes: Mrs Hendler, do you and your husband do much rock climbing?
Amy Hendler: Yes.
[points gun at Nick]
Amy Hendler: That's what I killed her with.
[Later in the lab]
Sara Sidle: You made my pickle into a light bulb?
[Looking for clues in a messy trailer]
Nick Stokes: People are pigs.
Gil Grissom: Don't insult the pigs, Nick. They're actually very clean.
Greg Sanders: [about orthodontia] I had it all - palate expander, braces, retainer, headgear. Five years of torture, but worth every penny, don't you think?
Greg Sanders: For the record, I really like having a penis.
Catherine Willows: [looking at a surveillance video of a teenage boy in an elevator] You crack this kid's head open, all that would come out would be T&A.
Greg Sanders: I think you said that about me once.
Catherine Willows: Actually, more than once.
[Grissom walks by the lab where Greg is playing music]
Gil Grissom: Hey, Sanders, no punk rock.
Greg Sanders: What about Black Flag?
Gil Grissom: Are you nuts?
Greg Sanders: I, am a genius.
Warrick Brown: Let me guess, you ran the DNA and got a hit?
Greg Sanders: No.
Gil Grissom: You ran the DNA and something distinctive came up?
Greg Sanders: No.
Warrick Brown: You rolled out of bed and managed to dress yourself?
Greg Sanders: No.
Dr. Al Robbins: I'll know more later.
Gil Grissom: You always tell me that.
Dr. Al Robbins: Yes, I do.
Catherine Willows: [to Grissom] What would you do without me?
Gil Grissom: Ok, we're going off the board tonight.
Sara Sidle: Off the board?
Catherine Willows: Fish. The ones that got away.
Sara Sidle: Oh. I missed that one.
[Sara storms in, obviously angry]
Sara Sidle: You weren't in your office.
Gil Grissom: And good morning to you too, Miss Sidle.
Catherine Willows: So, any luck with the blood and hair samples I gave you?
Greg Sanders: Don't insult me. Luck is only for those without skill.
Catherine Willows: Spoken like a man who's never hit the jackpot.
Greg Sanders: Sad, but true.
[after Greg kicks him out of the lab]
Warrick Brown: Did you take your medication today?
Catherine Willows: If something doesn't feel right to you, it usually isn't.
[to Grissom upon seeing a bug]
Catherine Willows: Hey, look at that. Your six-legged soul mate.
[in the autopsy room, looking over fragmented bones]
Dr. Al Robbins: You want a breast or a thigh?
Catherine Willows: It's your kitchen.
Greg Sanders: Hey Catherine, you think Sara would go to dinner with me?
Catherine Willows: Sure, as long as you don't tell her it's a date.
Hodges: "Thank you Hodges for performing that incredibly elaborate test requiring copious concentration and an advanced degree."
Catherine Willows: What's up, David? You find something?
David Phillips: I was just thinking that I wouldn't be caught dead in those shorts.
Captain Jim Brass: Hey, look what I found: a knife with blood on it.
Gil Grissom: Hey, look what I found: dead guy.
Grissom: "The evil men do always lives after them. The good is often interred with their bones."
Warrick Brown: Shakespeare?
Grissom: [nods] Julius Caesar.
Sara Sidle: Clothing, $85. Earrings, $30. Latte, $4. Getting away with murder...
Gil Grissom: Priceless.
[talking to a suspect about a broken mirror at the crime scene]
Sara Sidle: You know that's seven years bad luck.
Captain Jim Brass: More like seven to ten.
Captain Jim Brass: What can't you put your finger on, apart from the cut off switch?
Captain Jim Brass: Let me put it this way - I'd want them investigating my murder.
Captain Jim Brass: [an accused perp bends over to be searched] You better save that position for later, you'll need it where you're going.
Gil Grissom: Did you hear the one about the cop and the monkey who go into a bar?
Catherine Willows: I'm not in the mood.
Gil Grissom: Neither was the monkey.
Zach: You know how it is, you look like you were a jock in college.
Greg Sanders: Me?
Sara Sidle: Him?
Nick Stokes: [Archie was talking to Nick about a Star Trek episode] You need a girlfriend.
Archie: You first.
Gil Grissom: I'm sorry, you look lost
Sheriff Rory Atwater: I've been calling your cell.
Gil Grissom: We get bad reception here in CSI. Listen, if this is about dinner, I'm free next week. I'll be having the fish.
Catherine Willows: Lovers and co-workers, that never works.
Catherine Willows: What kind of perverse game are you playing here, Gil?
Gil Grissom: I'm not a pervert.
Sara Sidle: I think this print dust is getting to me. Would you mind finishing up the fridge?
Greg Sanders: Do I get a gold star?
Catherine Willows: How old were you when your father died?
Gil Grissom: Nine.
Catherine Willows: Little guy.
Gil Grissom: [to Hodges] So you're saying our killer had metal balls?
Catherine Willows: The thing that makes a fantasy great is the possibility it might come true. And when you lose that possibility it just... kinda... sucks.
Gil Grissom: Where's your enthusiasm?
Greg Sanders: Whenever I find a match in here, my world gets a little smaller. Out there I felt large.
Gil Grissom: Out there means a pay cut.
Greg Sanders: I'm not about the money.
[Nick has offered to make a bet on a case]
Warrick Brown: I don't get out of bed for less than a bill.
Sara Sidle: Is there truly no place left in Las Vegas without slot machines?
Gil Grissom: What you do on your time is your business. What you do on my time is my business.
[suspect shows Cath a picture of a guy]
Suspect: I have THIS guy keeping me at home.
Catherine Willows: Ahhh, did you get that picture from your wallet? I mean, when you bought it?
[to a recalcitrant suspect]
Captain Jim Brass: Newsflash. You can't make a deal if you keep your mouth shut.
[after Gil Grissom lights up a pickle in the lab]
Gil Grissom: You know this is how I cooked my hot dogs in college.
Sara Sidle: So what is it?
Hodges: Give me some time, I'm not a miracle worker.
Sara Sidle: Well, that's obvious, Hodges, or else you wouldn't be rude.
Hodges: I wasn't being rude, I was being curt. Rude would be "When I know, you'll know." Friends?
Sara Sidle: No.
Captain Jim Brass: Our friend Tony just checked into the hotel. Didn't even unpack his bags.
Grissom: He made enemies fast.
Dr. Al Robbins: He's been pretty worked over. How many teeth did you find at the crime scene?
Dr. Al Robbins: He's missing six.
Gil Grissom: Maestro, what's the deal with our floater?
[shouts over the music]
Gil Grissom: Professor! What's up with our floater?