“Rhode Island knows, but is Del aware?”

“No, you started this shit. I don't know how they do it in Rhode Island, but here in Jersey, bitches get stitches for talking shit and fucking with something they shouldn't.”

“It's a penis," Margo said, "in the same sense that Rhode Island is a state: it may have an illustrious history, but it sure isn't big.”

“He was Kyle Rhodes, and he was a tech god.”

“It also must be hard to have a wife like Mrs. Indianapolis. She’s in the fashion industry. She’s not a model or designer, but she is a buyer—not for a retail outlet, but for her four closets, whose combined square footage is probably comparable to Rhode Island. If an article of clothing is leopard print or neon colored, Mrs. Indianapolis either owns it, or soon will.”

“No man is an island,” he says. “Islands are made of dirt and rocks and trees. I don’t know any people made of such things. Therefore, people are not islands.”