A man's life is always at stake. And tragically low stakes at that. I should remind you that I did not offer you my services to help you round up your run of the mill drug lord or what have you. You all seem to be doing a perfectly mediocre job of that on your own. I'm after the big game Lizzie. The ones that matter.
Lorca is not going anywhere, and I'll never trust you. You know why?
RRRaymond 'Red' Reddington
Because after tracking me for years, you've come up with one undeniable truth: I only do what's good for me. And that is a person you can trust, Donald. Now, lets go.
Your witness is dead, you lost Lorca, and he took Agent Keen. I'd say my meeting with Lorca might be the equivalent of you falling on your ass and landing on a pile of Christmas.
You know what I think? I think this idea of you vanishing people to aid nature is a lie. I think you're trying to dissolve something else. Your past, maybe? Whatever the horrible thing was that twisted you up inside and made you into the freak that you are!
[to the Stewmaker while Elizabeth listens] A farmer comes home one day to find that everything that gives meaning to his life is gone. Crops are burned, animals slaughtered, bodies and broken pieces of his life strewn about. Everything that he loved taken from him - his children. One can only imagine the pit of despair, the hours of Job-like lamentations, the burden of existence. He makes a promise to himself in those dark hours. A life's work erupts from his knotted mind. Years go by. His suffering becomes complicated. One day he stops - the farmer who is no longer a farmer - sees the wreckage he's left in his wake. It is now he who burns, he who slaughters, and he knows in his heart he must pay.