Recently I read The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck. My wife loved it, I’ll give it a resounding “eh.” But Steinbeck did have a way with words, so while I didn’t love the book, I still really enjoyed his use of language. The quotes are of course better with the context of what is happening around them, but some are still nice even while isolated. And, I should add, the book is good, there is no doubt about that.
The banker’s voice became frosty. “I don’t understand.” His inflection said he did understand and found it stupid, and his tone twisted a bitterness in Ethan, and the bitterness spawned a lie.
It was the shocking discovery that makes a man wonder: If I’ve missed this, what else have I failed to see?
What a frightening thing is the human, a mass of gauges and dials and registers, and we can read only a few and those perhaps not accurately.
It has been my experience to put aside a decision for future pondering. Then one day, fencing a piece of time to face the problem, I have found it already completed, solved, and the verdict taken. This must happen to everyone, but I have no way of knowing that. It’s as though, in the dark and desolate caves of the mind, a faceless jury had met and decided.