Write freely and as rapidly as possible and throw the whole thing on paper. Never correct or rewrite until the whole thing is down. Rewrite in process is usually found to be an excuse for not going on. It also interferes with flow and rhythm which can only come from a kind of unconscious association with the material…..

— John Steinbeck

Writers are a little below clowns and a little above trained seals.

— John Steinbeck

... You are a little boy. You want the moon to drink from as a golden cup; and so, it is very likely that you will become a great man -- if only you remain a little child. All the world'great have been little boys who wanted the moon; running and climbing, they sometimes catch a firefly. But if one grow to a man's mind, that mind must see that it cannot have the moon and would not want it if it could -- and so, it catches no fireflies.' [Merlin]

— John Steinbeck

You are not a man anymore. You are a soldier. Your comfort is of no importance and your life isn’t of much importance. Most of your orders will be unpleasant, but that’s not your business. They should’ve trained you for this, and not for flower-strewn streets. They should have built your soul with truth, not led along with lies.

— John Steinbeck

You are one of the rare people who can separate your observation from your preconception. You see what is, where most people see what they expect.

— John Steinbeck

... you can't start with a democracy. You have to work up through stuff like tyranny and monarchy first. That way people are so relived when they get to democracy that they hang on to it.

— John Steinbeck

You don't even know where I'm going."" I don't care. I'd like to go anywhere.

— John Steinbeck

You fellas don't know what you're doing. You're helping to starve kids... You don't know what you're a' doin'.

— John Steinbeck

You got a God. Make no difference if you don't know what he looks like.

— John Steinbeck

You keep out of my bed,” said Danny, for he knew that Joe Portage had come to stay. The way he sat in a chair and crossed his knees had an appearance of permanence.

— John Steinbeck