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Kindle Notes & Highlights
Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream.
where the canneries dip their tails into the bay.
He wears a beard and his face is
half Christ and half satyr and his face tells the truth.
His mind had no horizon—and his sympathy had no warp.
He lived in a world of wonders, of excitement.
Orange and speckled and fluted nudibranchs slide gracefully over the rocks, their skirts
waving like the dresses of Spanish dancers. And black eels poke their heads out of crevices and wait for prey. The snapping shrimps with their trigger claws pop loudly. The lovely, colored world is glassed over.
Hazel hated that, it meant casting about in his mind for an answer and casting about in Hazel’s mind was like wandering alone in a deserted museum. Hazel’s mind was choked with uncatalogued exhibits.
When Mr. Rattle embezzled a client’s money and ran away to San José, he was caught with a high-hair blonde and sent up within ten days.
Model T Ford on the American nation. Two generations of Americans knew more about the Ford coil than the clitoris,
pineapple pie and blue cheese
good dinner in Los Angeles and it was dark when he got there. He drove on through and stopped at a big Chicken-in-the-Rough place he knew about.
sea cradles
Even now,
I know that I have savored the hot taste of life Lifting green cups and gold at the great feast. Just for a small and a forgotten time I have had full in my eyes from off my girl
