What was more pervasive than poverty or an uncertain future in the harsh, dust-swept landscape of Depression-era America?
For the characters in John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, it was the profound, gnawing ache of loneliness.
Steinbeck’s 1937 novella masterfully dissects the pervasive isolation touching nearly every soul on the ranch. From the restless drift of migrant workers to the bitter segregation faced by Crooks and the stifled yearning of Curley’s wife, each character grapples with a unique form of solitude.
Their dreams often represent a desperate yearning for connection and a place to belong.
We’ve collected 40 Of Mice and Men loneliness quotes with page numbers (the Penguin Books 1993 Mass Market Paperback edition (ISBN-13: 978-0140177398).
Each quote is paired with insightful analysis that explores the most poignant lines, revealing how George, Lennie, Candy, Crooks, and Curley’s wife articulate and grapple with their unique and shared experiences of isolation.
The very name of the nearby town, Soledad, underscores this central theme from the outset.
The itinerant life of ranch hands in Steinbeck’s America was one of transience and isolation. George Milton, though bound to Lennie, often voices the broader solitude of their existence, a theme echoed by other characters who observe the rarity of true companionship.
The Drifter’s Burden: Loneliness in a Rootless World
The dream of owning a piece of land represents more than economic independence for the characters in Of Mice and Men; it symbolizes stability, belonging, and an escape from the crushing loneliness of a migrant worker’s life. George often speaks of this yearning, contrasting his and Lennie’s bond with the isolation of others.
Even the respected Slim, a figure of natural authority, observes the pervasive solitude that defines the ranch hands.
“God, you’re a lot of trouble,” said George. “I could get along so easy and so nice if I didn’t have you on my tail. I could live so easy and maybe have a girl.”
(Character: George Milton, Chapter 1, Page 7)
George’s exasperated outburst reveals a hidden layer of his loneliness: the solitude of the constant caretaker. While his bond with Lennie saves him from the utter isolation of other ranch hands, it also tethers him, preventing him from forming other relationships or pursuing a “normal” life. It highlights the sacrifices inherent in their companionship and the dreams he has had to defer.
“Guys like us, that work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the world. They got no family. They don’t belong no place. They come to a ranch an’ work up a stake, and the first thing you know they’re poundin’ their tail on some other ranch. They ain’t got nothing to look ahead to.”
(Character: George Milton, Chapter 1, Page 13)
George’s heartbreaking assessment captures the profound rootlessness and desolation inherent in the life of a migrant ranch hand during the Great Depression. His words paint a bleak picture of men disconnected from family (“They got no family”) and community (“They don’t belong no place”), trapped in a repetitive, unfulfilling cycle of temporary labor and fleeting existence.
They lack a stable future or any sense of belonging to anchor them. This establishes the pervasive loneliness that serves as the backdrop for the entire novella and underscores the exceptional, if fragile, nature of his bond with Lennie, which is their only shield against this harsh reality.
“With us it ain’t like that. We got a future. We got somebody to talk to that gives a damn about us. We don’t have to sit in no bar room blowin’ in our jack jus’ because we got no place else to go. If them other guys gets in jail they can rot for all anybody gives a damn. But not us.”
(Character: George Milton, Chapter 1, Page 14)
Here, George defines the exceptional nature of his relationship with Lennie. Their companionship, centered on mutual care and a shared dream, provides an alternative to the pervasive loneliness he sees around him. It’s this connection, this sense of “giving a damn,” that offers them a “future” and a shield against the despair of isolation that afflicts other ranch hands.
“Well, I never seen one guy take so much trouble for another guy. I just like to know what your interest is.”
(Character: The Boss, Chapter 2, Page 22)
The Boss’s suspicion underscores the rarity of genuine companionship and altruism in the harsh, individualistic world of migrant labor. George’s care for Lennie is so unusual that it immediately raises questions about his motives, highlighting how deeply loneliness and self-interest are presumed to be the norm.
“Ain’t many guys travel around together,” he mused. “I don’t know why. Maybe ever’body in the whole damn world is scared of each other.”
(Character: Slim, Chapter 2, Page 35)
Slim, the wise and respected jerkline skinner, offers a profound, almost philosophical reflection on the pervasive loneliness he observes on the ranch. His suggestion that fear might be the root cause—”Maybe ever’body in the whole damn world is scared of each other”—broadens the theme beyond the immediate setting.
It hints at a deeper, more universal human condition of mistrust and emotional isolation that prevents meaningful connection. Slim implies this fear fosters a defensive solitude, making genuine bonds like George and Lennie’s both remarkable and exceptionally vulnerable in their unforgiving world.
“I ain’t got no people. I seen the guys that go around on the ranches alone. That ain’t no good. They don’t have no fun. After a long time they get mean. They get wantin’ to fight all the time.”
(Character: George Milton, Chapter 3, Page 41)
George explicitly states his lack of family (“I ain’t got no people”) and his keen observation of the corrosive effects of prolonged isolation on other ranch hands. He recognizes that solitude breeds bitterness, aggression (“they get mean”), and a loss of joy.
This awareness underscores his motivation for maintaining his difficult companionship with Lennie, as he seeks to avoid that bleak, solitary fate. You can explore more of George Milton’s defining quotes and the weight he carries.
“I wisht somebody’d shoot me if I got old an’ a cripple.”
(Character: Slim, Chapter 3, Page 45)
Slim’s disturbing statement about Candy’s old dog reflects the ranch’s harsh pragmatism and a deep-seated fear of becoming useless and alone. It underscores the grim future awaiting those who can no longer contribute, a future Candy himself dreads.
Slim’s words, though blunt, reveal an understanding of the desire to avoid a slow, painful, and isolated decline, a fate worse than a quick death in this unforgiving environment.
“Guys like us got nothing to look ahead to.”
(Character: George Milton, Chapter 6, Page 104)
George’s utterance of this line in the novella’s final chapter is devastating. It echoes his earlier words from Chapter 1 but is now stripped of the hopeful addendum, “But not us.” This signifies the complete and utter destruction of their shared dream and George’s ultimate surrender to the pervasive loneliness he had long fought to escape through his bond with Lennie.
With Lennie’s impending death, George confronts the bleak reality that he is now, truly, like the other solitary drifters, with no unique future to sustain him.
For characters like Candy, Crooks, and Curley’s wife, loneliness is compounded by societal marginalization due to age, race, and gender, making their isolation particularly acute and their yearning for connection intensely poignant.
Voices from the Margins: The Isolation of Candy, Crooks, and Curley’s Wife
Beyond the general hardship of ranch life, Steinbeck gives a poignant voice to characters pushed to the fringes by societal prejudice and personal circumstance. The aging swamper Candy, whose only companion was his old dog, the racially segregated stable buck Crooks, and the unnamed, objectified Curley’s wife, each experiences a profound and distinct form of loneliness.
Their words reveal the deep human need for companionship, dignity, and a place to belong, often in heartbreaking contrast to the harsh realities of their marginalized existence.
“Well – hell! I had him so long. Had him since he was a pup. I herded sheep with him.” He said proudly, “You wouldn’t think it to look at him now, but he was the best damn sheep dog I ever seen.”
(Character: Candy, Chapter 3, Page 44)
Candy’s desperate defense of his old, infirm dog reveals the depth of his companionship with the animal. The dog is not just a pet but a living link to Candy’s more vital past and a bulwark against his current loneliness and increasing uselessness. His pride in the dog’s former abilities underscores his sense of diminishing value and fear of being discarded.
“Candy looked a long time at Slim to try to find some reversal. And Slim gave him none. At last Candy said softly and hopelessly, “Awright – take ‘im.” He did not look down at the dog at all. He lay back on his bunk and crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling.”
(Character: Narrator describing Candy and Slim, Chapter 3, Page 47)
This moment captures Candy’s powerlessness and the heartbreaking severance of his longest companionship. His silent appeal to Slim, the ranch’s moral authority, and Slim’s stoic refusal to intervene leave Candy utterly defeated. His physical reaction—staring at the ceiling, unable to watch—conveys his grief and the deepening of his already deep loneliness.
“A shot sounded in the distance. The men looked quickly at the old man. Every head turned toward him. For a moment he continued to stare at the ceiling. Then he rolled slowly over and faced the wall and lay silent.”
(Character: Narrator about Candy, Chapter 3, Page 49)
The gunshot, signifying the death of Candy’s dog, is a pivotal moment that plunges him into an even deeper state of isolation. The narrative’s focus on Candy’s reaction—his stillness, then his slow turn to face the wall—is a powerful depiction of silent, internal grief.
He physically turns away from the other men and the world, retreating into his sorrow. This act visually represents his profound isolation, now amplified by the loss of his only constant companion, making his subsequent grasping at George and Lennie’s dream all the more desperate.
“I ain’t much good with on’y one hand. I lost my hand right here on this ranch… S’pose I went in with you guys. Tha’s three hunderd an’ fifty bucks I’d put in. I ain’t much good, but I could cook and tend the chickens and hoe the garden some. How’d that be?”
(Character: Candy, Chapter 3, Page 59)
Candy’s offer to join George and Lennie’s dream is a poignant expression of his desperate need to escape loneliness and secure a future. He acknowledges his physical limitations (“ain’t much good with on’y one hand”) but eagerly offers his life savings and willingness to perform even humble tasks.
His plea highlights the profound human desire for purpose and belonging, especially when facing the prospect of being old, useless, and utterly alone. His financial contribution is his only perceived leverage against this fate.
“You seen what they done to my dog tonight? They says he wasn’t no good to himself nor nobody else. When they can me here I wisht somebody’d shoot me. But they won’t do nothing like that. I won’t have no place to go, an’ I can’t get no more jobs.”
(Character: Candy, Chapter 3, Page 60)
Candy explicitly draws a tragic parallel between the fate of his old dog, killed because he was deemed no longer useful, and his feared future on the ranch. He sees his dog’s euthanasia not just as the loss of a cherished companion but as a grim foreshadowing of how he, too, will be discarded when his age and disability render him unproductive. This highlights the brutal pragmatism of their environment, where value is inextricably tied to utility.
Candy’s lament, “I won’t have no place to go, an’ I can’t get no more jobs,” powerfully conveys his insecurity, disposability, and the terror of a lonely, destitute end, making his desperate desire to invest in George and Lennie’s dream an act of existential self-preservation.
“Well, I got a right to have a light. You go on get outta my room. I ain’t wanted in the bunk house, and you ain’t wanted in my room.” “Why ain’t you wanted?” Lennie asked. “‘Cause I’m black. They play cards in there, but I can’t play because I’m black. They say I stink. Well, I tell you, you all of you stink to me.”
(Character: Crooks and Lennie, Chapter 4, Page 68)
Crooks’s bitter and defensive outburst to Lennie immediately establishes the harsh reality of his racial segregation and enforced isolation. Denied access to the communal life of the bunkhouse (“I ain’t wanted in the bunk house”) due to the color of his skin and the prevailing racism of the era, he clings fiercely to the small measure of autonomy and dignity his separate room provides.
His sharp retort, “you all of you stink to me,” is a poignant defense mechanism, an assertion of his worth in the face of constant dehumanization and marginalization by the white ranch hands. This initial hostility clearly shows the deep scars of loneliness imposed by systemic prejudice, making his eventual, cautious engagement with Lennie even more significant.
The words of Crooks often reveal this painful solitude.
“I was born right here in California. My old man had a chicken ranch, ’bout ten acres. The white kids come to play at our place, an’ sometimes I went to play with them, and some of them was pretty nice. My ol man didn’t like that. I never knew till long later why he didn’t like that. But I know now.” He hesitated, and when he spoke again his voice was softer. “There wasn’t another colored family for miles around. And now there ain’t a colored man on this ranch an’ there’s jus’ one family in Soledad.”
(Character: Crooks, Chapter 4, Page 70)
Crooks’s recollection of his childhood offers a rare glimpse into the origins of his profound loneliness and his lifelong experience with racism. He remembers a time of relative youthful innocence and integration, playing with white children, a normalcy his father, already scarred by prejudice, distrusted.
Crooks’s adult understanding (“But I know now”) is a sad acknowledgment of the pervasive racism that has shaped his life, leading to his current state of being the sole Black man on the ranch—an outsider. The soft, hesitant tone to describe this lifelong isolation underscores the deep, unhealed wound of being perpetually “othered” and denied community.
“I seen it over an’ over—a guy talkin’ to another guy and it don’t make no difference if he don’t hear or understand. The thing is, they’re talkin’, or they’re settin’ still not talkin’. It don’t make no difference, no difference. […] George can tell you screwy things, and it don’t matter. It’s just the talking. It’s just bein’ with another guy. That’s all.”
(Character: Crooks, Chapter 4, Page 71)
Crooks articulates a profound truth about the fundamental human need for companionship, even if that companionship lacks perfect understanding or deep intellectual connection.
His observation highlights the desperation born of extreme loneliness, where the presence of “another guy” and the simple act of “talking”—or even “settin’ still not talkin'”—become vital ends in themselves, a balm against the ache of solitude, regardless of the content or depth of the interaction. This reveals the core of his yearning for connection.
“S’pose George don’t come back no more. S’pose he took a powder and just ain’t coming back. What’ll you do then?” … Crooks’ face lighted with pleasure in his torture.
(Character: Crooks to Lennie, Chapter 4, Page 72)
Crooks, in a moment of cruel empathy born from his bitter loneliness, attempts to make Lennie understand the vulnerability of depending on a single person. His “pleasure in his torture” is not purely sadistic; it’s a twisted expression of his desire for someone to comprehend his state of enforced solitude and fear.
Crooks momentarily gains a perverse form of power and connection by briefly inflicting this hypothetical abandonment on Lennie
“A guy needs somebody -to be near him.” He whined, “A guy goes nuts if he ain’t got nobody. Don’t make no difference who the guy is, long’s he’s with you. I tell ya,” he cried, “I tell ya a guy gets too lonely an’ he gets sick.”
(Character: Crooks, Chapter 4, Pages 72-73)
This is one of the novel’s most direct and powerful statements on loneliness’s devastating psychological and physical impact. Crooks, speaking from the bitter depths of his own enforced isolation due to his race and crippled body, expresses the universal human need for companionship (“A guy needs somebody—to be near him”).
His raw assertion that a man “goes nuts” or “gets sick” without connection underscores loneliness not just as a state of sadness but as a destructive force that can erode one’s sanity and well-being.
His palpable desperation emphasizes that any companionship, regardless of the other person’s qualities or ability to understand, is preferable to utter solitude, a truth he lives daily. His words are a cry against the dehumanizing effects of ostracization.
“A guy sets alone out here at night, maybe readin’ books or thinkin’ or stuff like that. Sometimes he gets thinkin’, an’ he got nothing to tell him what’s so an’ what ain’t so. Maybe if he sees somethin’, he don’t know whether it’s right or not. He can’t turn to some other guy and ast him if he sees it too. He can’t tell. He got nothing to measure by.”
(Character: Crooks, Chapter 4, Page 73)
Crooks vividly describes the profound intellectual and perceptual isolation accompanying his physical segregation. Without companionship, there’s no one to share thoughts with, validate his perceptions, or help distinguish reality from imagination (“he got nothing to measure by”).
This highlights how extreme loneliness can undermine not just emotional well-being but also one’s sense of objective truth and connection to a shared, consensual world. It leads to a terrifying and disorienting internal existence where doubt and uncertainty fester unchallenged.
His reliance on books, while a comfort, is a solitary one, lacking the dialogue essential for mental balance.
“Guys don’t come into a colored man’s room very much.”
(Character: Crooks, Chapter 4, Page 75)
This simple, understated declaration from Crooks speaks volumes about the racial segregation and profound isolation he endures. It highlights the invisible but powerful social barriers that keep him separated, making Candy and Lennie’s intrusion into his room a rare and initially unsettling event, emphasizing the loneliness enforced by societal prejudice.
“You’re all scared of each other, that’s what. Ever’ one of you’s scared the rest is goin’ to get something on you.”
(Character: Curley’s Wife, Chapter 4, Page 77)
Curley’s wife offers a sharp, cynical observation about the pervasive atmosphere of fear and mistrust among the ranch hands. She suggests their isolation is partly self-imposed, driven by a fear of vulnerability and a competitive suspicion that prevents genuine connection. While a harsh judgment, it contains a kernel of truth about the defensive solitude many adopt.
“Well, I ain’t giving you no trouble. Think I don’t like to talk to somebody ever’ once in a while? Think I like to stick in that house afla time?”
(Character: Curley’s Wife, Chapter 4, Page 77)
Curley’s wife voices her desperate loneliness and frustration with her isolated existence. Confined to “that house” and starved for conversation beyond her possessive husband, her attempts to seek companionship with the ranch hands are consistently rebuffed. This quote reveals her yearning for simple human interaction.
“Standin’ here talkin’ to a bunch of bindle stiffs – a n***** an’ a dum-dum and a lousy ol’ sheep – an’ likin’ it because they ain’t nobody else.”
(Character: Curley’s Wife, Chapter 4, Page 78)
This bitter outburst from Curley’s wife reveals the depth of her loneliness, frustration, and crushed dreams. She lashes out at the only people she can find to talk to—the marginalized Crooks, Lennie, and Candy—insulting them with cruel epithets even as she paradoxically admits to “likin’ it because they ain’t nobody else.”
This underscores her desperation for human contact and her resentment at being confined to the company of outcasts, a reflection of her perceived low status and thwarted ambitions of a glamorous life in “pitchers.” The loneliness of Curley’s wife is a defining element of her tragic character.
“She turned on him in scorn. “Listen, N*****,” she said. “You know what I can do to you if you open your trap?” … “Well, you keep your place then, N*****. I could get you strung up on a tree so easy it ain’t even funny.”
(Character: Curley’s Wife to Crooks, Chapter 4, Pages 80-81)
This brutal assertion of power by Curley’s wife over Crooks, fueled by her own bitterness and societal standing as a white woman, is a devastating display of how even the marginalized can weaponize prejudice against those perceived as lower in the hierarchy.
Her threat to have Crooks lynched (“strung up on a tree”) is a chilling reminder of the racial violence of the era, instantly silencing him, demonstrating the lethal potential of her words and the terror of his isolated position. This interaction cruelly extinguishes the brief spark of connection Crooks had felt, reinforcing his profound solitude and the dangerous fragility of any interracial interaction in that setting.
“It wasn’t nothing,” Crooks said dully. “You guys comin’ in an’ settin’ made me forget. What she says is true.”
(Character: Crooks, Chapter 4, Page 82)
After Curley’s wife’s vicious threat, Crooks retreats into defeated resignation. His dull admission that “What she says is true”—referring to her power to have him harmed—reflects his crushing understanding of his powerless, vulnerable position as a Black man in that society. The brief flicker of hope and companionship he experienced with Lennie and Candy is extinguished, reminding him of his inescapable and dangerous isolation.
“Maybe you guys better go,” he said. “I ain’t sure I want you in here no more. A colored man got to have some rights even if he don’t like ’em.”
(Character: Crooks, Chapter 4, Page 82)
Crooks’s request for Lennie and Candy to leave his room, after Curley’s wife’s dehumanizing attack, signifies his painful retreat into his defensive shell. The brief illusion of shared hope in the dream farm is shattered, and he reasserts the boundaries of his enforced solitude.
His bitter statement about a “colored man’s rights” underscores the tragic irony of his situation: the only “right” he feels he can claim is the right to his own lonely space, a right born of exclusion rather than empowerment.
“Why can’t I talk to you? I never get to talk to nobody. I get awful lonely.”
(Character: Curley’s Wife to Lennie, Chapter 5, Page 86)
Curley’s wife’s plaintive question to Lennie in the barn reveals the raw ache of her profound isolation. Forbidden by her jealous husband to interact freely with the ranch hands and dismissed by them as a dangerous “tart,” she’s starved for simple companionship.
Despite her often provocative behavior, this moment frames her as another deeply lonely figure, desperate for any human connection, even with someone as intellectually limited as Lennie.
“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?”
(Character: Curley’s Wife to Lennie, Chapter 5, Page 87)
This repeated lament emphasizes the oppressive nature of Curley’s possessiveness and the suffocating isolation it imposes. Her direct question to Lennie is a desperate appeal for understanding, highlighting her starvation for simple conversation, a basic human need denied to her by her circumstances and her husband’s controlling jealousy.
“Well, I ain’t told this to nobody before. Maybe I oughtn’to. I don’like Curley. He ain’t a nice fella… I coulda made somethin’ of myself… I never got that letter… So I married Curley.”
(Character: Curley’s Wife to Lennie, Chapter 5, Pages 88-89)
In a rare moment of vulnerability, Curley’s wife confides in Lennie, revealing the disappointment and loneliness stemming from her broken dreams of Hollywood stardom and her unhappy marriage.
She confesses her dislike for Curley and belief that a stolen letter thwarted her chance at a glamorous life, leading her to marry Curley impulsively out of desperation. This backstory paints her not just as a troublemaker but as a tragic figure trapped by circumstance and starved for an audience.
Even Lennie, who has George, experiences a unique form of isolation due to his mental disability, his inability to understand the world, and the consequences of his unintentional actions.
Lennie’s Solitude: The Loneliness of Misunderstanding
Lennie Small, despite his constant companionship with George, endures a profound form of loneliness stemming from his cognitive disability. He struggles to understand social cues, remember instructions, or comprehend the consequences of his immense strength.
This isolates him from true, reciprocal understanding with others and leaves him vulnerable, often with only the dream of tending rabbits as a tangible solace against a confusing and hostile world.
“George, you want I should go away and leave you alone?”
(Character: Lennie Small, Chapter 1, Page 12)
Lennie’s recurring offer to leave George, often made after George expresses frustration, reveals his awareness of being a burden and his deep-seated fear of abandonment. Despite his inability to fully grasp complex situations, he senses George’s occasional resentment.
His proposed solution—to live alone in a cave—highlights his underlying loneliness and his complete dependence on George’s reassurance for survival and emotional well-being.
“I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you, and that’s why.”
(Character: Lennie Small, Chapter 1, Page 14)
Lennie’s joyful recitation of their unique bond is his defense against the loneliness that defines other ranch hands. While simple, it encapsulates the core of their relationship: mutual dependence and care. For Lennie, this understanding is a vital affirmation of his belonging and protection against a world he doesn’t understand.
“I wisht George was here. I wisht George was here.”
(Character: Lennie Small, Chapter 4, Page 81)
Lennie’s immature whine after being threatened by Curley’s wife in Crooks’s room reveals his complete emotional reliance on George. In moments of fear or confusion, George is his anchor and protector. This repeated wish underscores his childlike vulnerability and the profound loneliness he feels when George is absent or when he perceives a threat.
“Why do you got to get killed? You ain’t so little as mice. I didn’t bounce you hard… Now maybe George ain’t gonna let me tend no rabbits, if he fin’s out you got killed.”
(Character: Lennie Small to his dead puppy, Chapter 5, Page 85)
Lennie’s sorrowful monologue to his dead puppy reveals his tragic inability to understand his strength and the finality of death. His primary concern is not the puppy’s demise, but the fear that this “bad thing” will cause George to revoke the privilege of tending rabbits—the ultimate symbol of their dream and Lennie’s place of belonging.
This highlights his isolation in understanding consequences, his focus on pleasing George, and the lonely fear of losing the one thing that gives him purpose and a sense of a secure future. His gentle nature, combined with his incomprehension, makes his loneliness all the more tragic.
The dream of owning a small farm is the primary hope that sustains George, Lennie, and later Candy. It offers them an escape from their loneliness and a vision of a future where they belong and have agency.
The Fragile Dream: Companionship as an Antidote to Despair
For George, Lennie, and eventually Candy, the dream of owning “a little place” becomes a powerful antidote to their lives’ pervasive loneliness and hardship. It represents not just economic independence but a sanctuary of companionship, belonging, and self-respect.
These quotes illustrate the allure of this shared dream and the desperate hope it offers against the harsh realities of their world.
“O.K. Someday – we’re gonna get the jack together and we’re gonna have a little house and a couple of acres an’ a cow and some pigs and -” “An’ live off the fatta the lan’,”Lennie shouted. “An’ have rabbits.”
(Character: George Milton and Lennie Small, Chapter 1, Page 14)
This ritualistic retelling of their shared dream is a cornerstone of George and Lennie’s bond, a verbal talisman against the harshness of their reality. For Lennie, the promise of tending rabbits is the tangible heart of this vision. For George, it represents autonomy, stability, and a life where their labor benefits themselves, a powerful counter-narrative to their current rootless, lonely existence. The dream becomes a form of shared companionship and potent hope.
“We’d belong there. There wouldn’t be no more runnin’ round the country and gettin’ fed by a Jap cook. No, sir, we’d have our own place where we belonged and not sleep in no bunk house.”
(Character: George Milton, Chapter 3, Page 57)
George’s vision of their dream farm explicitly emphasizes “belonging” as its core element. It’s an escape from the impersonal, transient life of bunkhouses, a chance to create a space where they are not subject to the whims of others. This longing for a place of their “own” is inspired by the profound loneliness and lack of freedom they experience.
“They fell into a silence. They looked at one another, amazed. This thing they had never really believed in was coming true.”
(Character: The Narrator, about George and Candy, Chapter 3, Page 60)
When Candy offers his life savings to join George and Lennie’s dream, it transforms from a comforting fantasy into a tangible possibility. The shared amazement of George and Candy highlights how deeply they craved this vision of a secure, communal future that seemed almost unbelievable in its promise to alleviate their loneliness and insecurity.
“I ought to of shot that dog myself, George. I shouldn’t ought to of let no stranger shoot my dog.”
(Character: Candy, Chapter 3, Page 61)
Candy’s regret over not taking personal responsibility for euthanizing his old dog reflects his deep sense of loss and perhaps a recognition of his passivity. This regret fuels his desperation to join George and Lennie’s dream, seeking a new form of companionship and purpose to fill the void left by his dog and to assert some control over his lonely future, a future he sees mirrored in his dog’s fate.
“No, Lennie. I ain’t mad. I never been mad, an’ I ain’t now. That’s a thing I want ya to know.”
(Character: George Milton, Chapter 6, Page 106)
In their final moments together by the Salinas River, as George prepares to enact a terrible mercy, these words reassure Lennie. It’s an act of ultimate compassion, absolving Lennie of the fear of George’s anger that has plagued him throughout the novella. More deeply, George attempts to preserve Lennie’s innocence and their bond even as he prepares to commit an act that will sever it and leave him utterly alone.
This statement is a final, heartbreaking gift of peace to his friend, a testament to the complex love and responsibility George feels, even as it underscores the tragic loneliness he is about to embrace fully with this act.
“He reached in his side pocket and brought out Carlson’s Luger; he snapped off the safety, and the hand and gun lay on the ground behind Lennie’s back. He looked at the back of Lennie’s head, at the place where the spine and skull were joined.”
(Character: Narrator describing George, Chapter 6, Page 106)
This stark, clinical description of George preparing to kill Lennie is laden with unspoken sorrow and the terrible weight of his decision. The focus on the “back of Lennie’s head,” a vulnerable and unsuspecting target, emphasizes Lennie’s childlike trust and complete unawareness of his impending doom.
It makes George’s choice both a tragic mercy—sparing Lennie a brutal death at the hands of Curley’s mob—and a profound betrayal born of desperate love and the harsh realities of their world.
This moment signifies the ultimate cost of their companionship and seals George’s future profound loneliness. His deliberate action contrasts with Candy’s regret over his dog, showing George taking on the painful responsibility Candy shirked.
“Curley and Carlson looked after them. And Carlson said, “Now what the hell ya suppose is eatin’ them two guys?”
(Character: Carlson, Chapter 6, Page 107)
Carlson’s final, uncomprehending words encapsulate the novel’s tragic theme of emotional isolation and the inability of many characters to grasp or empathize with deep human connection and grief.
His casual bewilderment at George’s and Slim’s somber departure, immediately after George has had to kill his best friend, highlights the profound gap between those who understand the weight of such bonds and those, like the pragmatic and emotionally detached Carlson, who remain oblivious.
This ending reinforces the pervasive loneliness of their world, where even acts of unconditional love and sacrifice are misunderstood by those untouched by empathy, suggesting George’s grief will be solitary.
Conclusion: The Enduring Echo of Shared Solitude
John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men masterfully portrays loneliness not merely as an individual affliction but as a pervasive condition shaping the lives and destinies of nearly every character in its harsh world.
From the drifters’ rootless existence to the enforced segregation of Crooks and the tragic isolation of Curley’s wife, these 40 quotes reveal the myriad ways individuals are cut off from meaningful human connection.
George and Lennie’s vividly painted, fragile dream of a shared future is a poignant but ultimately doomed testament to the fundamental human yearning for belonging in a world that often offers none.
Steinbeck’s unflinching depiction of this isolation, captured in the characters’ raw and often heartbreaking words, leaves us to ponder the enduring need for empathy and shared humanity.
The power of Of Mice and Men lies in its reminder of the dignity in connection and the profound tragedy of its absence, making it a timeless commentary on the human condition.
Explore our main Of Mice and Men Quotes page for a broader collection of powerful lines from the novella
A Note on Page Numbers & Edition:
Like George playing solitaire even with Lennie beside him, the true weight of loneliness in Of Mice and Men is often a private burden. Page numbers, too, can feel solitary, varying from one edition to the next. All page numbers cited (e.g., Page 13) reference the Penguin Books Mass Market Paperback edition (September 1, 1993), ISBN-13: 978-0140177398; Always consult your copy to ensure precise location for academic or personal reference.
Jeremy Mortis, founder of Ageless Investing, applies a rigorous analytical approach (the AAM framework) to distill timeless wisdom and contextualized quotes from classic literature, saving you time while deepening understanding. Learn more about Jeremy’s unique background and methodology on his author bio page.