Yes," said Locke."Yes, Master Ibelius. I'm going to put that fucker in the dirt as deeply as any man who's ever been murdered, ever since the world began.

You're one third bad intentions, one third pure avarice, and one eighth sawdust. What's left, I'll credit, must be brains.

What kind of knife is this?” Locke held a rounded buttering utensil up for Chains’ inspection. “It’s all wrong. You couldn’t kill anyone with this.

There’s no freedom quite like the freedom of being constantly underestimated.

What thief does not fight to hold what he has?"

"One that has something better," said Locke.

I've got kids that enjoy stealing. I've got kids that don't think about stealing one way or the other, and I've got kids that just tolerate stealing because they know they've got nothing else to do. But nobody--and I mean nobody--has ever been hungry for it like this boy. If he had a bloody gash across his throat and a physiker was trying to sew it up, Lamora would steal the needle and thread and die laughing. He...steals too much.