Sat’iday night. Ever’body out doin’ som’pin’. Ever’body! An’ what am I doin’? Standin’ here talkin’ to a bunch of bindle stiffs—a nigger an’ a dum–dum and a lousy ol’ sheep—an’ likin’ it because they ain’t nobody else.

You got no right to come in my room. This here’s my room. Nobody got any right in here but me.

This is just a nigger talkin’, an’ a busted–back nigger. So it don’t mean nothing, see? You couldn’t remember it anyways.

"Lennie never done it in meanness," he said. "All the time he done bad things, but he never done one of ’em mean."

"I should of knew," George said hopelessly. "I guess maybe way back in my head I did."

"I get lonely," she said. "You can talk to people, but I can’t talk to nobody but Curley. Else he gets mad. How’d you like not to talk to anybody?"

"I don’t want ta hurt you," he said, "but George’ll be mad if you yell." When she didn’t answer nor move he bent closely over her.

If they was a circus or a baseball game … we would of went to her … jus’ said ‘ta hell with work,’ an’ went to her. Never ast nobody’s say so.

Jesus Christ, Lennie! You can’t remember nothing that happens, but you remember ever’ word I say.

All the time he coulda had such a good time if it wasn’t for you. He woulda took his pay an’ raised hell in a whore house, and he coulda set in a pool room an’ played snooker. But he got to take care of you.