Why isn't everybody reading this book? It's as brilliant as THE GRAPES OF WRATH and more people should know about it.
"'Maybe when we grow up we can find out how to fix you,' Myra said.'Maybe so. Maybe so. Maybe you can fix the world. It's out of joint somewheres.'" (25).
"Anna had until the last few years looked upon a bank as a public aid to people who found themselves in need of immediate money until the next harvest. Finally, as she learned more of its various functions and more about the hardworking, sacrificing families involved in its existence, she began to see it as a mercenary business profiting most off the misfortunes and desperate circumstances of others. It seemed now to her, strangely intertwined as it was with her own personal life, a monster gorging itself on the farmlands and crops of the people she knew, who had lost their independence either through accidents of nature or through the fluctuating prices for crops and animals and--in general--the depression" (32-33).
"Deep in his mind was a lingering and eager belief in man as a human being. Some indefinite thing in himself that had been pressed back, unused, decided him. He was no different from any other man in this, his wordless hunger for dignity, to have faith in men, who seemed to him misshapen by the world they lived in, never reaching their fullest bloom. Living was a sorrowful business to the old man and all the people he knew, filled with hard work, worries of every kind, fear and doubt for the future. A man forgot his youth in securing his old age, and there was no certainty even in this" (38).
"Was not Christ a man with blood in his veins and a heart for people. He did not die that they might be saved; he was murdered, as good as lynched, for his ideas that woke the poor enduring people like the ones now in this little church in town, he was killed for his ideas that threatened the enthroned greed of the times. Why was the earth he loved--with its tender magnificent beauties, its treasures within and without, its order and change--not a fit place for a joyous life? Work, yes, because work itself is no hardship, if done in reason, a reason connected with life. Why should a man wish to leave his body and the earth to reach completion? Had he no respect for himself and for the world? What of the many lifetimes wasted in endurance. Could not these lives moving together change the world?" (38).
"Concerned only with death as a gateway to a spirit utopia, they missed the simple, lusty joy of being alive on the earth" (59).
"Was it some planned contrariness of nature or some vast mistake in the framework of men's lives? What things were in the world that he would never know or see because the simple needs of staying alive captured his life from sun to sun and year to year? Why was one man with leisure to waste and another with no hour to spare?" (60).
"Since the depression it 'pears to me the same troubles bothering us are the ones bothering everybody else in the world. Everybody has to keep his nose so close to the grindstone he can't know his neighbor or anybody else. When you get right down to it, everybody has a lonesome life" (72).
"She felt a vague stir of relief, but disappointments had come with such frequency that she wondered if the greatest of all, the loss of this year's crop, if it had happened, would have aroused any feeling but helpless resignation in her" (81).
"'If the world wasn't going to hell I'd like to come back to earth a hundred years from now and see the women. But a hundred years from now won't be nothing left with these newfangled wars.' He sighed deeply" (84).
"The best should go to the top to help and advise us. I ain't saying things is run that way now, but people change the world all the time, and who knows?" (97).
"'Interesting, too,' Anna said. 'how we're not really divided according to our nationalities, but by how much or how little money we have. Most of the differences are acquired, they depend on what money can buy you. I suppose they influence in some way the differences that aren't acquired.' She paused and looked out the window over the forlorn and ravaged plain" (105).
"As she walked back to their own tent and sat down outside, she tried to feel guilty so that her promise would be for real, but she felt only a vague sense of having protected them. Maybe she did wrong. She had never wanted to steal anything, and this did not seem like stealing. Who were They? There weren't any big houses around where They lived. The fields were just there by themselves as if they were growing for everybody. She knew nothing like that ever happened, but where were They, those mysterious people whom everyone was afraid of? *She* was not afraid. But she would have to find out who They were before she could defy Them. She began to imagine ways of helping these poor people she knew. In ehr thoughts, she walked strongly through tale after tale, finding out what they needed, giving them back their farms, giving them houses instead of tents, giving them herds of cows and gallons of milk, giving them happiness. She saw them without their worried looks, working in the fields, in the houses they had built; she saw them singing and dancing and laughing; she saw them the way they were now, and it seemed they were waiting for her because she was not afraid" (151).
"'Say, you're full of questions tonight,' he said. 'Why, some around here in town, but mostly it's a big concern called Hayes and Berkeley; it ain't nowhere and it's ever'where at once" (153).
"Would a businessman sell his goods below cost? they asked one another. Then, how could they sell their labor below cost? And what was the cost of a man's life? Enough to feed him and his family, to clothe them, enough for a shelter over their heads. Nothing more. And that was not much was it? Was it, really, here where shelter was only a tent and food less than enough? A man could want more, of course, but in these years, they said to one another, a man was lucky to eat and sleep But less than that? No. It was better to starve than to become a sullen thing who fed his belly and slept in his sweat and forgot about his heritage. Such a man would forget his dream. And everything new swas begun in a dream. Man's destiny suspected and unsolved would crash in the darkness because he was too puny to assert his soul. These words may not have been on their tongues because the stirrings in a man's mind can be wordless. The man with words is not the only man who thinks and weeps with the deep question of his being. Let no one ever think him self apart in this. Let him sit down and talk to any man and feel his shame; the unsayable things come out as clear and simple as a bell at night in every word he speaks. He wants more than bread and sleep; he wants himself--a man to wear the dignity of his reason" (203).
"'When a man's got a clear conscience, he don't carry a gun,' Julia said quietly" (221).
"South to north the valleys curved in a long green flowering bowl, filled with food enough for a nation, while hunger gnawed these workers' bodies and drained their minds" (222).