Quote

Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.

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
Matter
Locals
Piled
Way
Inspiring
Tripping
Life
Road
Suitcases
Travel
Battered
Journey
Sidewalk
Longer
Traveller
Ways
Traveler
Backpacking
Inspirational
Traveled
Nomadic

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Ah, life is a gate, a way, a path to Paradise anyway, why not live for fun and joy and love or some sort of girl by a fireside, why not go to your desire and LAUGH.
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Be in love with your life, every detail of it.
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No time for poetry but exactly what is.
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the golden eternity is { }
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I realized that I had died and been reborn numberless times but just didn't remember because the transitions from life to death and back are so ghostly easy, a magical action for naught, like falling asleep and waking up again a million times, the utter casualness and deep ignorance of it.
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Swinging on delicate hinges the autumn leaf almost off the stem.
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and the stars were icicles of mockery
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The whole mad swirl of everything that was to come began then.
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Whenever spring comes to New York I can't stand the suggestion of the land that come blowing over the river from New Jersey and I've got to go. So I went.
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Return those shoes to the shoemaker Return this hand to my father This pillow to the pillowmaker Those slippers to the shop. That wainscot to the carpenter, But my mind my tranquil and eternal Mind Return it to whom?
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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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In all this welter of women I still hadn't got one for myself, not that I was trying too hard, but sometimes I felt lonely to see everybody paired off and having a good time and all I did was curl up in my sleeping bag in the rosebushes and sigh and say bah. For me it was just red wine in my mouth and a pile of firewood
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There's wisdom in wine.
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At night I closed my eyes and saw my bones threading the mud of my grave.
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Paris is a woman but London is an independent man puffing his pipe in a pub.
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Genius gives birth, talent delivers. What Rembrandt or Van Gogh saw in the night can never be seen again.
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What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-by. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.
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What's your road, man? - holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, any road. It's an anywhere road for anybody anyhow. Where body how?
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Practice kindness all day to everybody and you will realize you're already in heaven now.
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