Here are two excerpts from “Cannery Row” by John Steinbeck

Valuing Success OVER Failure…

“It has always seemed strange to me,” said Doc. “The things we admire
in men, kindness and generosity, openness, honesty, understanding and
feeling are the concomitants of failure in our system. And those traits we
detest, sharpness, greed, acquisitiveness, meanness, egotism and self-
interest are the traits of success. And while men admire the quality of the
first they love the produce of the second.”
“Who wants to be good if he has to be hungry too?” said Richard Frost.
“Oh, it isn’t a matter of hunger. It’s something quite different. The sale of
souls to gain the whole world is completely voluntary and almost
unanimous—but not quite. Everywhere in the world there are Mack and the
boys. I’ve seen them in an ice-cream seller in Mexico and in an Aleut in
Alaska.”

Feeling Like A Failure…

“What happened?” Doc asked.
Mack looked at the floor and a drop of blood fell from his lips into his
beer. He mopped his split lips again. “I and the boys wanted to give you a
party. We thought you’d be home last night.”
Doc nodded his head. “I see.”
“She got out of hand,” said Mack. “It don’t do no good to say I’m sorry. I
been sorry all my life. This ain’t no new thing. It’s always like this.” He
swallowed deeply from his glass. “I had a wife,” Mack said. “Same thing.
Ever’thing I done turned sour. She couldn’t stand it any more. If I done a
good thing it got poisoned up some way. If I give her a present they was
something wrong with it. She only got hurt from me. She couldn’t stand it
no more. Same thing ever’ place ’til I just got to clowning. I don’t do
nothin’ but clown no more. Try to make the boys laugh.”
Doc nodded again. The music was sounding in his head again, complaint
and resignation all in one. “I know,” he said.
“I was glad when you hit me,” Mack went on. “I thought to myself
—‘Maybe this will teach me. Maybe I’ll remember this.’ But, hell, I won’t
remember nothin’. I won’t learn nothin’. Doc,” Mack cried, “the way I seen
it, we was all happy and havin’ a good time. You was glad because we was
givin’ you a party. And we was glad. The way I seen it, it was a good
party.” He waved his hand at the wreckage on the floor. “Same thing when I
was married. I’d think her out and then— but it never come off that way.”
“I know,” said Doc. He opened the second quart of beer and poured the
glasses full.
“Doc,” said Mack, “I and the boys will clean up here—and we’ll pay for
the stuff that’s broke. If it takes us five years we’ll pay for it.”
Doc shook his head slowly and wiped the beer foam from his mustache.
“No,” he said, “I’ll clean it up. I know where everything goes.”
“We’ll pay for it, Doc.”
“No you won’t, Mack,” said Doc. “You’ll think about it and it’ll worry
you for quite a long time, but you won’t pay for it. There’s maybe three
hundred dollars in broken museum glass. Don’t say you’ll pay for it. That
will just keep you uneasy. It might be two or three years before you forgot
about it and felt entirely easy again. And you wouldn’t pay it anyway.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Mack. “Damn it, I know you’re right.
What can we do?”
“I’m over it,” said Doc. “Those socks in the mouth got it out of my
system. Let’s forget it.”
Mack finished his beer and stood up. “So long, Doc,” he said.
“So long. Say, Mack—what happened to your wife?”
“I don’t know,” said Mack. “She went away.” He walked clumsily down
the stairs and crossed over and walked up the lot and up the chicken walk to
the Palace Flophouse. Doc watched his progress through the window. And
then wearily he got a broom from behind the water heater. It took him all
day to clean up the mess.