Quote

And I said, 'That last thing is what you can't get, Carlo. Nobody can get to that last thing. We keep on living in hopes of catching it once and for all.

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
Last
Living
Keep
Carlo
Thing
Catching
Hopes
Honesty
Nobody
Lasts

More quotes by Jack Kerouac

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It's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies
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You seek identity in the midst of indistinguishab le chaos, in sprawling nameless reality.
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I'm writing this book because we're all going to die.
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I don't know, I don't care, and it doesn't make any difference.
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Be in love with your life, every detail of it.
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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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My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.
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Who knows, my God, but that the universe is not one vast sea of compassion actually, the veritable holy honey, beneath all this show of personality and cruelty?
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You were my last chance' she's said but don't all women say that? - But can it be by 'last chance' she doesn't mean mere marriage but some profoundly sad realization of something in me she really needs to go on living, at least that impression coming across anyway on the force of all the gloom we've shared -
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Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind.
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Mind is the Maker, for no reason at all, for all this creation, created to fall.
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Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.
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I was having a wonderful time and the whole world opened up before me because I had no dreams.
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I realized either I was crazy or the world was crazy and I picked on the world. And of course I was right.
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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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The whole mad swirl of everything that was to come began then.
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Sure baby, mañana. It was always mañana. For the next few weeks that was all I heard––mañana a lovely word and one that probably means heaven.
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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.
Jack Kerouac
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...and performing our one and noble function of the time, move.
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