— What was your father's profession?
— Well, he, erm... He told fortunes and stole horses. Often he would tell a man that his horse would be stolen and they would marvel at his powers when it was.
— Happy or sad?
— Sad.
— Okay, but I warn you; I'll break your heart.
— Already broken.
— You think I am a whore?
— Everyone's a whore, Grace. We just sell different parts of ourselves.
— I love you.
— And there it goes, Grace. Away it goes...
— Thomas Shelby.
— My hand was blood.
— Oh, mine too.
— What are you doing, Tommy?
— Shovelling shit, Curly. Just like you.
— Why're you doing that, Tommy?
— To remind myself what I'd be if I wasn't who I am.
You don't parley when you're on the back foot.
You have to get what you want, your own way.
— You know, there are days <...> that I really wish I'd let you take that bullet in France.
— Believe me, there are nights I wish you had.