Body of Proof

— Kate is sleeping with my ex-husband.
— And this bothers you?
— You need to ask?
— You and Todd have been divorced for, like, five years. You... you'd have to figure he'd be seeing somebody.
— Yeah, but Kate?
— What do you got against Kate?
— She's screwing my ex-husband!

— You still fretting about that dang phone?
— You know, I used everything in this lab to try and dry it out. You know, I even stuck it in the centrifuge.
— You did what now?
— I give up. I'm a doctor, not an engineer.

{Ethan gave Megan PH test strips and a set of test tubes}
— Ha ha ha, I knew it.
— That thing test insanity?
— It tests acidity.

— So why'd you lie?
— I didn't want to have to take my science test because I knew I was going to fail. I just don't get it. I know how much you love science...and I didn't want to disappoint you.
— You know what, Lace? That is just not possible.

— Julie knew enough not to walk into someone's crosshairs.
— Thus making my point.
— What point is that?
— One of you shot her on purpose.

— What does an investigator do, actually?
— Basically, secures the crime scene, photographs the body, interviews witnesses, and whatever I tell them to do.
— But I already do whatever you tell me to do.
— Keep up the good work!

Being a parent means wanting the best for your child, no matter who provides it.

— Why is it that you are so comfortable delving into my personal life, and yet, hmm, we never seem to talk about yours?
— Well, that's just our thing, I guess.
— Oh, I see. You and I have a thing?

— Todd, w-what are you doing at Lacey's school?
— I'm not at Lacey's school. I'm at the office. What are you doing calling her on her cell phone?
— Well, you screen my calls to the house.
— You know, the phone works both ways, Megs. She could call you if she wanted to.
— Why would she want to? I'm the bad guy, aren't I?

— I'm gonna get some coffee.
— The skull collapsed into the occipital lobe in a v-shaped depression. There are flecks of rust throughout. Your murder weapon is heavy, maybe cast iron, square with a dull edge, possibly a large plumber's wrench or some kind of mallet. And, Detective...
— Yeah?
— I take mine with cream, no sugar.

— Dr. Hunt.
— Curtis.
— I'm a doctor, too, you know?
— And yet no one calls you that. Strange.

— Look, I'm Deputy Chief Medical Examiner. The entire budget of this office is on my shoulders. You keep pulling that crap, I don't care how many friends you have.
— What makes you think I have friends?
— It's true. She doesn't have any.

— What is it with you? You can't just be a regular M. E? You have to be the smocked crusader? Why don't you do us all a favor and go back to being whatever it was you were before?
— I can't. I killed someone.

Her name was Marianne. A tumor on the optic nerve... And there was an autopsy as part of the inquest. All those hours studying the scans, rehearsing the operation, and I never knew that she had a broken heart tattoo because of an old boyfriend, or that she fractured her arm horseback riding when she was a kid, or dozens of other things that her body revealed to me that... our conversations never did. And the truth is... Until she died, I never really cared.

— I am not approving
any unnecessary tests.
— Curtis? Haven't you ever wanted a second chance with your first love? Those two people will never have that chance again, and I wanna know who took it away from them.
— You're just trying to suck me in to your crime-solving cult.
— No, I'm trying to get you to act like a doctor who gives a damn.

— Green french fries, huh? Irish pub maybe?
— Either that or Dr. Seuss just opened up a restaurant.