John Shelby

— Gentlemen, this is your cousin. Polly's son, Michael.
— Pleased to meet you. John.
— I'm Arthur. You've already met me. I used to throw you out of the window, so John could catch you.
— I used to put you in a shoebox and kick you down Watery Lane.

— How's Arthur?
— For Christmas, get him a sewing kit... so he can sew his fucking balls back on.

— Well, at least you're going to get what you've always wanted.
— And what's that?
— Well, you tried to hang yourself twice. Now the King is gonna do it for you.
— I've been a fucking idiot. I haven't appreciated nothing, John.
— Are you fucking repenting or something?
— Drawing. I used to be good at drawing.
— Arthur, please, for God's sake, I don't need this.
— I should have listened more in class.
— What fucking class? You were never there.
— I used to draw horses. Stallions. Great big ones. They looked real. I should have done more with me life, John. Good things. Even Ada said it wasn't my fault.
— Arthur, will you listen? They're not gonna hang you.
— Says who?
— Tommy.
— And how is Houdini gonna get me out of this?

— Now we can bury him properly, in the grave we dug for him.
— Yeah. It's high on a hill. He'll like that. To Danny Whizz-bang! May we all die twice.

— Look, it's the Mafia, all right? This is the New York Mafia we're talking about.
— And we're the Peaky fucking Blinders.
— No, we're not, John. We're not the Peaky fucking Blinders unless we're together.
— You were together on the gallows, with one man missing.