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: 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.
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?
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.
Dr. Al Robbins: Hand me that foot, would you?
[to Grissom upon seeing a bug]
Catherine Willows: Hey, look at that. Your six-legged soul mate.
Captain Jim Brass: Let me put it this way - I'd want them investigating my murder.
Gil Grissom: [to Hodges] So you're saying our killer had metal balls?
Gil Grissom: I tend not to believe people; they lie. The evidence never lies.
Greg Sanders: For the record, I really like having a penis.
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.
[Cath stares at the body of her deceased ex-husband]
Dr. Al Robbins: Catherine, you can't say goodbye in an autopsy room.
Gil Grissom: Are we paying you by the word?
Gil Grissom: No victim can ever say we didn't try.
Catherine Willows: If something doesn't feel right to you, it usually isn't.
[Later in the lab]
Sara Sidle: You made my pickle into a light bulb?
Gil Grissom: The rich are just as depraved as the poor.
Gil Grissom: My bugs are my babies, my children.
Sara Sidle: Dead body! Bonus.
Gil Grissom: Amazing how the sight of blood can clear a room.
Greg Sanders: I had to send this to an outside lab since we're not equipped to carry out bacterial DNA analysis. Hint, hint.
Gil Grissom: What you do on your time is your business. What you do on my time is my business.
[after Greg kicks him out of the lab]
Warrick Brown: Did you take your medication today?
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?
Captain Jim Brass: What can't you put your finger on, apart from the cut off switch?
Catherine Willows: Lovers and co-workers, that never works.
Gil Grissom: There is always a clue.
Sara Sidle: Is there truly no place left in Las Vegas without slot machines?
Catherine Willows: Whatever you say, Superfly.
[Nick has offered to make a bet on a case]
Warrick Brown: I don't get out of bed for less than a bill.
Catherine Willows: [to Grissom] What would you do without me?
Hodges: "Thank you Hodges for performing that incredibly elaborate test requiring copious concentration and an advanced degree."
[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.
Nick Stokes: You don't have a career without a job.