“In the evening a strange thing happened: the twenty families became one family, the Children were the children of all. The loss of home became one loss, and the golden time in the West was one dream. And it might be that a sick child threw despair into the hearts of twenty families, of a hundred people; that a birth there in a tent kept a hundred people quiet and awestruck trough the night and filled a hundred people with the birth-joy in the morning...Every night a world created, complete with furniture- friends made and enemies established; a world complete with braggarts and with cowards, with quiet men, with humble men, with kindly men. Every night relationships that make a world, established; and every morning the world torn down like a circus.”

“The people came out of their houses and smelled the hot stinging air and covered their noses from it. And the children came out of the houses, but they did not run or shout as they would have done after a rain. Men stood by their fences and looked at the ruined corn, drying fast now, only a little green showing through the film of dust. The men were silent and they did not move often. And the women came out of the houses to stand beside their men - to feel whether this time the men would break. The women studied the men's faces secretly, for the corn could go, as long as something else remained. The children stood near by drawing figures in the dust with bare toes, and the children sent exploring senses out to see whether men and women would break. The children peeked at the faces of the men and women, and then drew careful lines in the dust with their toes. Horses came to the watering troughs and nuzzled the water to clear the surface dust. After a while the faces of the watching men lost their bemused perplexity and became hard and angry and resistant. Then the women knew that they were safe and that there was no break. Then they asked, Whta'll we do? And the men replied, I don't know. but it was all right. The women knew it was all right, and the watching children knew it was all right. Women and children knew deep in themselves that no misfortune was too great to bear if their men were whole. The women went into the houses to their work, and the children began to play, but cautiously at first. As the day went forward the sun became less red. It flared down on the dust-blanketed land. The men sat in the doorways of their houses; their hands were busy with sticks and little rocks. The men sat still - thinking - figuring.”

“I see hundreds of men come by on the road an’ on the ranches with their bindles on their back an’ that same damn thing in their heads. Hundreds of them. They come, an’ they quit an’ go on; an’ every damn one of ‘em’s got a little piece of land in his head. An’ never a God damn one of ‘em ever gets it. Just like heaven. Ever’body wants a little piece of lan’. I read plenty of books out there. Nobody never gets to heaven, and nobody never gets no land. It’s just in their head.”

“Look at them. There are your true philosophers. I think that Mack and the boys know everything that has ever happened in the world and possibly everything that will happen. I think they survive in this particular world better than other people. In a time when people tear themselves to pieces with ambition and nervousness and covetousness, they are relaxed. All of our so-called successful men are sick men, with bad stomachs, and bad souls, but Mack and the boys are healthy and curiously clean. They can do what they want. They can satisfy their appetites without calling them something else.”

“It is a time of quiet joy, the sunny morning. When the glittery dew is on the mallow weeds, each leaf holds a jewel which is beautiful if not valuable. This is no time for hurry or for bustle. Thoughts are slow and deep and golden in the morning.”

“The Western States nervous under the beginning change.Texas and Oklahoma, Kansas and Arkansas, New Mexico,Arizona, California. A single family moved from the land.Pa borrowed money from the bank, and now the bank wantsthe land. The land company--that's the bank when it has land--wants tractors, not families on the land. Is a tractor bad? Isthe power that turns the long furrows wrong? If this tractorwere ours it would be good--not mine, but ours. If our tractorturned the long furrows of our land, it would be good.Not my land, but ours. We could love that tractor then aswe have loved this land when it was ours. But the tractordoes two things--it turns the land and turns us off the land.There is little difference between this tractor and a tank.The people are driven, intimidated, hurt by both. We must thinkabout this.One man, one family driven from the land; this rusty carcreaking along the highway to the west. I lost my land, asingle tractor took my land. I am alone and bewildered.And in the night one family camps in a ditch and anotherfamily pulls in and the tents come out. The two men squaton their hams and the women and children listen. Here is thenode, you who hate change and fear revolution. Keep thesetwo squatting men apart; make them hate, fear, suspect eachother. Here is the anlarge of the thing you fear. This is thezygote. For here "I lost my land" is changed; a cell is splitand from its splitting grows the thing you hate--"We lost ourland." The danger is here, for two men are not as lonely andperplexed as one. And from this first "we" there grows a stillmore dangerous thing: "I have a little food" plus "I havenone." If from this problem the sum is "We have a littlefood," the thing is on its way, the movement has direction.Only a little multiplication now, and this land, this tractor areours. The two men squatting in a ditch, the little fire, the side-meat stewing in a single pot, the silent, stone-eyed women;behind, the children listening with their souls to words theirminds do not understand. The night draws down. The babyhas a cold. Here, take this blanket. It's wool. It was my mother'sblanket--take it for the baby. This is the thing to bomb.This is the beginning--from "I" to "we."If you who own the things people must have could understandthis, you might preserve yourself. If you could separatecauses from results, if you could know Paine, Marx,Jefferson, Lenin, were results, not causes, you might survive.But that you cannot know. For the quality of owning freezesyou forever into "I," and cuts you off forever from the "we."The Western States are nervous under the beginingchange. Need is the stimulus to concept, concept to action.A half-million people moving over the country; a millionmore restive, ready to move; ten million more feeling thefirst nervousness.And tractors turning the multiple furrows in the vacant land.”

“I seen hundreds of men come by on the road an’ on the ranches, with their bindles on their back an’ that same damn thing in their heads . . . every damn one of ’em’s got a little piece of land in his head. An’ never a God damn one of ’em ever gets it. Just like heaven. Ever’body wants a little piece of lan’. I read plenty of books out here. Nobody never gets to heaven, and nobody gets no land.”