Oh, there’s no toll,” noticed Henry. “It costs twelve bucks coming into Manhattan, but I guess it’s free going back to New Jersey.”
“That should tell you something,” said Villy crestfallen.

So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, and all the people dreaming in the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by now the children must be crying in the land where they let the children cry, and tonight the stars'll be out, and don't you know that God is Pooh Bear? the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all the rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what's going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old, I think of Dean Moriarty, I even think of Old Dean Moriarty the father we never found, I think of Dean Moriarty.

A lot of people don't know, but New Jersey has, like, 700,000 acres of farmland.

I was raised in New Jersey - Long Branch.

Philadelphia merely seems dull because it's next to exciting Camden, New Jersey.

I grew up in suburban New Jersey in a transitional area that was surrounded by farmland that wasn't being cultivated.