"Maybe it's up to me to do what the good people can't. Or maybe there are no good people. Maybe there are only good decisions."

"I don't belong to anyone anymore. You, however, are mine. I protect you. The only thing you love lives at 254 Wendell Street, Cambridge, Massachusetts. I guard it, same as I guard you. Do not question my judgment. Do not pursue me, or my agents. Trust in me. I am always watching."

Harold Finch: I have played by the rules for so long. FBI Agent: Not from where I'm sitting. Harold Finch: No, not your rules. You work at the behest of a system so broken that you didn't even notice when it became corrupted at its core. When I first broke your rules, a sitting president had authorized assassination squads in Laos, and the head of the FBI had ordered his men, you, to conduct illegal surveillance on his political rivals. Your rules have changed every time it was convenient for you. I was talking about my rules. I have lived by those rules for so long, believed in them for so long, believed that if you played by the right rules, eventually you would win. But I was wrong, wasn't I? And now all the people I cared about are dead. Or will be dead soon enough. And we will be gone without a trace. So now I have to decide. Decide whether to let my friends die, to let hope die, to let the world be ground under your heel all because I played by my rules. I'm trying to decide. I'm going to kill you. But I need to decide how far I'm willing to go, how many of my own rules I'm willing to break, to get it done. FBI Agent: Look. You want to add threatening the life of a federal agent to your file, I will draw up those charges right now. No waiting is required. Harold Finch: I wasn't talking to you.