With all our horrors and faults, somewhere in us there is a shining.
JOHN STEINBECKHow can you frighten a man whose hunger is not only in his own cramped stomach but in the wretched bellies of his children? You can’t scare him–he has known a fear beyond every other.
More John Steinbeck Quotes
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To finish is sadness to a writer — a little death. He puts the last word down and it is done. But it isn’t really done. The story goes on and leaves the writer behind, for no story is ever done.
JOHN STEINBECK -
The nicest thing in the world you can do for anybody is let them help you.
JOHN STEINBECK -
And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.
JOHN STEINBECK -
Nearly everyone has his box of secret pain.
JOHN STEINBECK -
In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.
JOHN STEINBECK -
Socialism is just another form of religion, and thus delusional.
JOHN STEINBECK -
If you want to destroy a nation, give it too much – make it greedy, miserable and sick.
JOHN STEINBECK -
Socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires.
JOHN STEINBECK -
If you’re in trouble, or hurt or need – go to the poor people. They’re the only ones that’ll help – the only ones.
JOHN STEINBECK -
I know now why confusion in government is not only tolerated but encouraged. I have learned. Confused people can make no clear demands.
JOHN STEINBECK -
A writer lives in awe of words, for they can be cruel or kind, and they can change their meanings right in front of you. They pick up flavors and odors like butter in a refrigerator.
JOHN STEINBECK -
Maybe the hardest thing in writing is simply to tell the truth about things as we see them.
JOHN STEINBECK -
What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.
JOHN STEINBECK -
The final weapon is the brain, all else is supplemental.
JOHN STEINBECK -
Men do change, and change comes like a little wind that ruffles the curtains at dawn, and it comes like the stealthy perfume of wildflowers hidden in the grass.
JOHN STEINBECK






