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It was the work of the quiet mountains, this torrent of purity at my feet.

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
Mountain
Quiet
Feet
Work
Torrent
Mountains
Purity

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For the first time in my life the weather was not something that touched me, that caressed me, froze or sweated me, but became me.
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The whole mad swirl of everything that was to come began then.
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You'd be surprised how little I knew even up to yesterday
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I just won't sleep, I decided. There were so many other interesting things to do.
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Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition.
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There was nothing to talk about anymore. The only thing to do was go.
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Dean's California--wild, sweaty, important, the land of lonely and exiled and eccentric lovers come to forgather like birds, and the land where everybody somehow looked like broken-down, handsome, decadent movie actors.
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What difference does it make after all?--anonymity in the world of men is better than fame in heaven, for what’s heaven? what’s earth? All in the mind.
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It’s not that I can’t fall in love. It’s really that I can’t help falling in love with too many things all at once. So, you must understand why I can’t distinguish between what’s platonic and what isn’t, because it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
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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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I'd rather hop freights around the country and cook my food out of tin cans over wood fires, than be rich and have a home or work.
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The dream is already ended and we're already awake in the golden eternity.
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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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I'm writing this book because we're all going to die.
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Pretty girls make graves
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Ray, what you got to do is go climb a mountain.
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Mainly I've been back to my books and writings and being nice and quiet and lazy. As I'm writing this, the radio says there's a foot of snow falling on Long Island. I really love snow and wish I could take a long walk in it right now.
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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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I promise I shall never give up, and that I'll die yelling & laughing.
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Bee, why are you staring at me? I am not a flower??
Jack Kerouac