“She poked him in the center of his chest with two fingers to punctuate her words. “You are an unfeeling”—poke —“traitorous”—poke—“mistrusting”—poke—“rude”—poke —“booby!” Every poke turned him mortal, but Lord Maccon didn’t seem to mind it in the least. Instead he grabbed the hand that poked him and brought it to his lips. “You put it very well, my love.”
“Rats. Rats, mice, and rodents.”
“Cowboy: New York hood talk means kill the mother fucker wherever you find him. A rat is a rat is a rat is a rat. Is an informer.”
“Did you bring me a rat?""He has no time for rats, George.""No time for rats? That's just sad.”
“If you join the rat race — you're in the race of rats.”