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But why think about that when all the golden lands ahead of you and all kinds of unforseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?
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
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Lurking
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Lands
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Glad
Make
Kinds
More quotes by Jack Kerouac
An awful realization that I have been fooling myself all my life thinking there was a next thing to do to keep the show going and actually I'm just a sick clown and so is everybody else
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We tiptoed around each other like heartbreaking new friends.
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Your Buddhism has made you mean Ray and makes you even afraid to take your clothes off for a simple healthy orgy
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I'd better be a poet Or lay down dead.
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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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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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In my madness I was actually in love with her for the few hours it all lasted it was the same unmistakable ache and stab across the mind, the same sighs, the same pain, and above all the same reluctance and fear to approach.
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The happiness consists in realizing that it is all a great strange dream.
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and the stars were icicles of mockery
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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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It was a rainy night. It was the myth of the rainy night.
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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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Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.
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Vanity of vanities… all is vanity.’ You kill yourself to get to the grave. Especially you kill yourself to get to the grave before you die and the name of the grave is ‘success’, the name of that grave is hullabullo boom boom horseshit.
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And the Hippos were boiled in their tanks!
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Lying mouth to mouth, kiss to kiss in the pillow dark, loin to loin in unbelievable surrendering sweetness so distant from all our mental fearful abstractions it makes you wonder why men have termed God antisexual somehow (p. 148)
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It is not my fault that certain so-called bohemian elements have found in my writings something to hang their peculiar beatnik theories on.
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Genius gives birth, talent delivers.
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I like it because its ugly
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My whole wretched life swam before my weary eyes, and I realized no matter what you do it's bound to be a waste of time in the end so you might as well go mad.
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