And now you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.

In literary criticism the critic has no choice but to make over the victim of his attention into something the size and shape of himself.

The writer is delegated to declare and to celebrate man's proven capacity for greatness of heart and spirit—for gallantry in defeat, for courage, compassion and love. In the endless war against weakness and despair, these are the bright rally flags of hope and of emulation. I hold that a writer who does not believe in the perfectibility of man has no dedication nor any membership in literature.—Steinbeck Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech

Ever'body's askin' that. "What we comin' to?" Seems to me we don't never come to nothin'. Always on the way.

Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping.