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A pain stabbed my heart as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world.

Jack Kerouac

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Jack Kerouac
Age: 47 †
Born: 1922
Born: March 13
Died: 1969
Died: October 21
Novelist
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
East Chelmsford
Massachusetts
Jean-Louis Lebris de Kérouac
Jean-Louis Lebris de Kerouac
Kerouac
Jean-Louis Kerouac
Every
Saws
Time
Loved
Life
Wisdom
World
Bigs
Stabbed
Pain
Opposite
Girl
Opposites
Heart
Direction
Going
Inspire

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And then we’ll all go off to sweet life, ‘cause now is the time and we all know time!
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The one thing that we yearn for in our living days, that makes us sigh and groan and undergo sweet nauseas of all kinds, is the remembrance of some lost bliss that was probably experienced in the womb and can only be reproduced (though we hate to admit it) in death. But who wants to die?
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The air was so sweet in New Orleans it seemed to come in soft bandannas and you could smell the river and really smell the people, and mud, and molasses, and every kind of tropical exhalation, with your nose suddenly removed from the dry ices of a Northern winter.
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It's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies
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I'd rather be thin than famous but I'm fat paste that in your broadway show
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Pain or love or danger makes you real again.
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We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell
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At night I closed my eyes and saw my bones threading the mud of my grave.
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I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life.
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I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all
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There was nothing to talk about anymore. The only thing to do was go.
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Details are the Life of Prose.
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What does it mean that I am in this endless universe, thinking that I'm a man sitting under the stars on the terrace of the earth, but actually empty and awake throughout the emptiness and awakedness of everything? It means that I'm empty and awake, that I know I'm empty and awake, and that there's no difference between me and anything else.
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Holy flowers floating in the air, were all these tired faces in the dawn of Jazz America.
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I'm not a beatnik. I'm a Catholic.
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It seemed like a matter of minutes when we began rolling in the foothills before Oakland and suddenly reached a height and saw stretched out ahead of us the fabulous white city of San Francisco on her eleven mystic hills with the blue Pacific and its advancing wall of potato-patch fog beyond, and smoke and goldenness in the late afternoon of time.
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Things are so hard to figure out when you live from day to day in this feverish and silly world.
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Everything I wrote was true because I believed what I saw.
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The only alternative to sleeping out, hopping freights, and doing what I wanted, I saw in a vision would be to just sit with a hundred other patients in front of a nice television set in a madhouse, where we could be supervised.
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