“He (Rico) moved to look at the speedometer.“Come on, Olivia. The speed limit is 70. You’re doing 95, and this car is ticket bait. I don’t want to risk getting stopped.”“I’m traveling with the flow. This is I-95. If I go the speed limit I’ll stand out.”He scowled.“Okay.” She slowed the Corvette.“Thanks,” he muttered. “You always drive like this?”“Yep, I grew up in Texas. Speed limits there are only a suggestion.”

“driving at the speed limit--hideous thought.”

“(Olivia) “I’m stopping at the next exit for gas. I’ll get rid of the scrubs. You get out and walk around or by the time we get to Miami you’ll be too stiff to move.”“Don’t worry, when I get stiff I move very well,” he muttered as he turned to face away.“I heard that.”

“What else? I also believe that if someone comes up behind you on the freeway and flashes their lights to get you to move into the slow lane, they deserve whatever punishment you dole out to them. I promptly slow down and drive at the same speed as the car beside me so that I can punish Speed Racer for his impertinence.Actually, it’s not the impertinence I’m punishing him for, it’s that he let other people know what he wanted.Speed Racer, my friend, never ever let people know what you want. Because if you do, you might as well send them engraved invitations saying, “Hi, this is what I want you to prevent me from ever having.”

“Wasn't it his right to listen to opera, read poetry and adventure novels, go to Europe every couple of months for some reason or another, and drive his Porsche over the speed limit until he found out who he was?”

“I wandered over to the motorbike and read the work Triumph on the side. 'How long has he had it?' I asked Jack. 'No. Over my dead body.' Jack's expression was hard. […] '[…] I told Dad I'd keep you safe and the Alex you know is not the Alex who drives that bike. He's not known to respect the speed limit.' Now I definitely wanted to go on it.”