Quote

I looked up at the dark sky and prayed to God for a better break in life and a better chance to do something for the little people I loved.

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
Little
Sky
Something
Looked
Life
Loved
People
Break
Dark
Chance
Littles
Better
Prayed

More quotes by Jack Kerouac

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I'm Catholic and I can't commit suicide, but I plan to drink myself to death.
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I'd better be a poet Or lay down dead.
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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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Rest and be kind, you don't have to prove anything
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The taste of rain -- Why kneel?
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And still the Void is still and'll never move - But I will be the Void, moving without having moved.
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My life is a vast inconsequential epic.
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All is well, practice kindness, heaven is nigh.
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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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and don't you know that God is Pooh Bear?
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I was suddenly left with nothing in my hands but a handful of crazy stars.
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When you start separating people from their rivers, what have you got? Bureaucracy!
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Don't tell them too much about your soul. They're waiting for just that.
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I'd rather be thin than famous but I'm fat paste that in your broadway show
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And when the fog's over and the stars and the moon come out at night it'll be a beautiful sight.
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We fumed and screamed in our mountain nook, mad drunken Americans in the mighty land. We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell, I guess - across the night.
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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.
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The whole mad swirl of everything that was to come began then.
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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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Because anybody can write, but not everybody invents new forms of writing. Gertrude Stein invented a new form of writing and her imitators are just talents.
Jack Kerouac