— Happy or sad?
— Sad.
— Okay, but I warn you; I'll break your heart.
— Already broken.
— 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.
Please don't listen to my sister's opinions of me. They are always... hopeful. Therefore they are always wrong.
— 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 have to get what you want, your own way.
In pubs sometimes people say things and sometimes it’s the whisky talking. It’s hard to tell which is which.
You don't parley when you're on the back foot.
— So I'd be solving a problem for you.
— And I'd be winning you that medal.
— If I get a medal, I will have your initials engraved on my backside.
— Oh. My initials on your backside. That's quite an image.