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I'm writing this book because we're all going to die.

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
Wisdom
Dies
Book
Writing
Going

More quotes by Jack Kerouac

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...and performing our one and noble function of the time, move.
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Genius gives birth, talent delivers.
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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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My shoes are clean from walking in the rain.
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I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all
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Man lowers his head and lunges into civilization, forgetting the days of his infancy when he sought truth in a snowflake or a stick. Man forgets the wisdom of the child.
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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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You are the equal of the idol who has given you your inspiration
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You seek identity in the midst of indistinguishab le chaos, in sprawling nameless reality.
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Somewhere along the line, the pearl would be handed to me.
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The page is long, blank, and full of truth. When I am through with it, it shall probably be long, full, and empty with words.
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As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind.
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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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It ain't whatcha write, it's the way atcha write it.
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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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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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Writing at least is a silent meditation even though you’re going a hundred miles an hour.
Jack Kerouac
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The smog was heavy, my eyes were weeping from it, the sun was hot, the air stank, a regular hell is L.A.
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Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.
Jack Kerouac
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I felt free and therefore I was free.
Jack Kerouac