Thomas Shelby

I think, Arthur. That's what I do. I think. So that you don't have to.

Everyone is a whore, Grace. We just sell different parts of ourselves.

There is no rest for me in this world. Perhaps in the next.

Sometimes it lasts all night. And I lie here and I listen to the shovels... and the picks against that wall there. And I pray that the sun will come up at the curtains before they break through. No, I don't pray. I hope.

I will continue... 'till I find a man, that I can't defeat.

In the bleak, midwinter.

The eleventh hour. Armistice. Peace at last. Peace at last.