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

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I just won't sleep, I decided. There were so many other interesting things to do.
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I mean, why on earth (outside sickness and hangovers) aren't people continually drunk? I want ecstasy of the mind all the time.
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The cowboy music twanged in the roadhouse and carried across the fields, all sadness. It was all right with me. I kissed my baby and we put out the lights.
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The taste of rain -- Why kneel?
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But, outside of being a sweet little girl, she was awfully dumb and capable of doing horrible things.
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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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and never really thought I'd amount to anything. It was precisely what I wanted the whole world to think then I could sneak in, if that's what they wanted, and sneak out again, which I did.
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...and performing our one and noble function of the time, move.
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Parade my trouble in front of you guys? Make you realize that my heart is broken . . . that as long as I live I'll have chains dragging me down to the oceans of sad tears that my feet are wet in already.
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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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Rest and be kind, you don't have to prove anything
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I'm going to marry my novels and have little short stories for children.
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Who doesn't feel studious when he doesn't have a girl with a Riviera suntan?
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Thinking of the stars night after night I begin to realize 'The stars are words' and all the innumerable worlds in the Milky Way are words, and so is this world too. And I realize that no matter where I am, whether in a little room full of thought, or in this endless universe of stars and mountains, it’s all in my mind.
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And I realize the unbearable anguish of insanity: how uninformed people can be thinking insane people are happy, O God, in fact it was Irwin Garden once warned me not to think the madhouses are full of happy nuts. (p. 200)
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When the railroad trains moaned, and river-winds blew, bringing echoes through the vale, it was as if a wild hum of voices, the dear voices of everybody he had known, were crying: Peter, Peter! Where are you going, Peter? And a big soft gust of rain came down. He put up the collar of his jacket, and bowed his head, and hurried along.
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I feel guilty for being a member of the human race.
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What do you want out of life? I asked, and I used to ask that all the time of girls.
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Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind.
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Some's bastards, some's ain't. That's the score.
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