Everyone is related to the world through something. I through words… before I stopped writing, words had become treacherous and untrustworthy to me. And then, without announcement they began assembling quietly and they slipped down my pencil to the paper – not the tricky, clever, lying, infected words – but simpler, stately, beautiful, old with dignity and fresh and young as that bird wakes me with a song as old as the world and announces every day as a new thing in creation. My love and respect and homage for my language is coming back. Here are proud words and sharp words and words as dainty as little girls and stone words needing no adjectives as crutches. And they join hands and dance beauty on the paper.

John Steinbeck, A Life in Letters

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