Gene Hunt: I think you've forgotten who you're talking to.
Sam Tyler: An overweight, over-the-hill, nicotine-stained, borderline-alcoholic homophobe with a superiority complex and an unhealthy obsession with male bonding?
Gene Hunt: You make that sound like a bad thing.

Gene Hunt: Juries love all that. Makes 'em feel like Columbo.

Gene Hunt: Now is not the time to have a one night stand with your conscience.

Gene Hunt: Oi! Referee! Has anyone ever told you you need glasses, you dozy git? Next time, I run you over!

Gene Hunt: Right, we pulled a bird in, Dora Keanes. She was the last person to see the victim alive.
Sam Tyler: Is she a suspect?
Gene Hunt: Nope, just a pain in the arse.
Sam Tyler: Okay, alright, brief me in full. What do I need to know?
Gene Hunt: [confused] She's a pain in the arse!
[They arrive outside the lost property office]
Sam Tyler: What, so you've handed her into lost property?
Chris Skelton: Well, we could use the canteen, but she's a right mouthy bird, this one.
Sam Tyler: Hang on, you're going to do the interview in there?
Gene Hunt: Thick walls.

Gene Hunt: There will never be a woman prime minister as long as I have a hole in my arse.

Gene Hunt: Time to liven things up a bit. Hard to keep your stories straight when you're pissed. You ask my missus.
Sam Tyler: I'm not sure that's ethical.
Gene Hunt: It's not. It's vodka.

Gene Hunt: Tits in a jumper, maybe a result.

Gene Hunt: Will someone please put some bog roll in the toilets! I've just had to wipe my arse on Francis Lee!

Gene Hunt: You so much as belch out of line and I'll have your scrotum on a barbed wire plate.

Gene Hunt: You think you know everything, don't you?
Sam Tyler: I know the stench of rotten apples.
Gene Hunt: Yeah? And I know your slag is lying through her teeth and do you wanna know why?
Sam Tyler: Yeah, why?
Gene Hunt: Steven Warren is a bum bandit. Do you understand? A poof! A fairy! A queer! A queen! Fudge packer! Uphill Gardener! Fruit picking sodomite!
Sam Tyler: He's gay?
Gene Hunt: As a bloody Christmas Tree! Mind you, he is a little touchy on the subject, being a twisted Catholic with an elderly mother and all, so I wouldn't go mentioning it to him... You challenged his authority so he stitched you up like a kipper. Pretty girl appealed to your vanity as the only decent sheriff in Dodge City. Slipped you a Mickey, tied you up and bounced on your ding-a-ling.
Sam Tyler: Why?
Gene Hunt: I suspect the answer will lie in the post. Photos, you idiot.

Hugo Barton: [runs towards the team] Excuse me!
Sam Tyler: Excuse me sir, can you go back behind the cordon, please.
Hugo Barton: Hugo Barton. I'm a reporter from the Gazette.
Gene Hunt: Oh, terrific. [shouts at the hostage taker] Oi! We've got another one for you!
Sam Tyler: Guv.
Hugo Barton: He walked in about 40 minutes ago; he was just ahead of me. He pulled a gun; he means business.
Gene Hunt: Y'know, I'd listen to the snot in my hankie before I'd listen to you.

Men in the Trafford Arms: What's this?
Sam Tyler: It's chicken... in a basket.

Nelson: I set the rules here.

Nelson: What can I get you, man, raise your spirits?
Sam Tyler: Diet Coke, please.
[Nelson looks blank]
Sam Tyler: Just kidding, a pint of bitter.