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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
Life
Road
Suitcases
Travel
Battered
Journey
Sidewalk
Longer
Traveller
Ways
Traveler
Backpacking
Inspirational
Traveled
Nomadic
Matter
Locals
Piled
Way
Inspiring
Tripping
More quotes by Jack Kerouac
It was my dream that screwed up, the stupid hearthside idea that it would be wonderful to follow one great red line across America instead of trying various roads and routes.
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beautiful insane in the rain
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Night is longer than day for those who dream & day is longer than night for those who make their dreams comes true.
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One night I realized that when you give people understanding and encouragement a funny little meek childish look abashes their eyes, no matter what they've been doing they weren't sure it was right - lambies all over the world.
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I like it because its ugly
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Jumping from boulder to boulder and never falling, with a heavy pack, is easier than it sounds you just can't fall when you get into the rhythm of the dance.
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You'd be surprised how little I knew even up to yesterday
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You are the equal of the idol who has given you your inspiration
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At night I closed my eyes and saw my bones threading the mud of my grave.
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-no girl had ever moved me with a story of spiritual suffering and so beautifully her soul showing out radiant as an angel wandering in hell and the hell the selfsame streets I'd roamed in watching, watching for someone just like her and never dreaming the darkness and the mystery and eventuality of our meeting in eternity.
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LA is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities NY gets god-awful cold in the winter but there's a feeling of wacky comradeship somewhere in some streets. LA is a jungle.
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Genius gives birth, talent delivers.
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It ain't whatcha write, it's the way atcha write it.
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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.
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Because anybody can write, but not everybody invents new forms of writing. Gertrude Stein invented a new form of writing and her imitators are just talents.
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Forgive everyone for your own sins and be sure to tell them you love them which you do.
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And this is the way a novel gets written, in ignorance, fear, sorrow, madness, and a kind of psychotic happiness as an incubator for the wonders being born.
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The air was soft, the stars so fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great, that I thought I was in a dream.
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He seems to me to be headed for his ideal fate, which is compulsive psychosis dashed with a jigger of psychopathic irresponsibility and violence
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And then we’ll all go off to sweet life, ‘cause now is the time and we all know time!
Jack Kerouac
