Quote

Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgandy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries.

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
Color
Mysteries
Melons
Long
Purple
Groves
Love
Sunset
Grove
Red
Dusk
Sun
Pressed
Tangerine
Soon
Grapes
Tangerines
Fields
Spanish
Melon
Mystery
Sunrise
Slashed

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Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind.
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...most of the time we were alone and mixing up our souls ever more and ever more till it would be terribly hard to say good-by.
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Life is life, and kind is kind
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The empty blue sky of space says 'All this comes back to me, then goes again, and comes back again, then goes again, and I don't care, it still belongs to me
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and the stars were icicles of mockery
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Return those shoes to the shoemaker Return this hand to my father This pillow to the pillowmaker Those slippers to the shop. That wainscot to the carpenter, But my mind my tranquil and eternal Mind Return it to whom?
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I'll go to the south of Sicily in the winter, and paint memories of Arles – I'll buy a piano and Mozart me that – I'll write long sad tales about people in the legend of my life – This part is my part of the movie, let's hear yours
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Life must be rich and full of loving--it's no good otherwise, no good at all, for anyone.
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Forgive everyone for your own sins and be sure to tell them you love them which you do.
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the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.
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It ain't whatcha write, it's the way atcha write it.
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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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And the story of love is a long sad tale ending in graves.
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The unspeakable visions of the individual.
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Dean and I both swayed to the rhythm and the IT of our final excited joy in talking and living to the blank traced end of all innumerable riotous angelic particulars that had been lurking in our souls all our lives.
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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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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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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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I was having a wonderful time and the whole world opened up before me because I had no dreams.
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Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.
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