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They spent all week saving pennies and went out Saturdays to spend fifty bucks in three hours.

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
Spend
Week
Saturdays
Went
Pennies
Hours
Bucks
Three
Saturday
Fifty
Saving
Spent

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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 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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But I remember seeing a mess of leaves suddenly go skittering in the wind and into the creek, then floating rapidly down the creek towards the sea, making me feel a nameless horror even then of 'Oh my God, we're all being swept away to sea no matter what we know or say or do
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I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted.
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I suddenly discovered the delight of rebellion.
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Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.
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Down in Denver, all I did was die.
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Are we fallen angels who didn't want to believe that nothing is nothing and so were born to lose our loved ones and dear friends one by one and finally our own life, to see it proved?
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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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Maybe that's what life is... a wink of the eye and winking stars.
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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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Goddamn it, FEELING is what I like in art, not CRAFTINESS and the hiding of feelings.
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Jumping from boulder to boulder and never falling, with a heavy pack, is easier than it sounds you just can't fall when you get into the rhythm of the dance.
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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.
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It's okay, girl, we'll make it till the sun goes down forever. And until then what you got to lose but the losing? We're fallen angels who didn't believe that nothing means nothing.
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Mankind is like dogs, not gods - as long as you don't get mad they'll bite you - but stay mad and you'll never be bitten. Dogs don't respect humility and sorrow.
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In all this welter of women I still hadn't got one for myself, not that I was trying too hard, but sometimes I felt lonely to see everybody paired off and having a good time and all I did was curl up in my sleeping bag in the rosebushes and sigh and say bah. For me it was just red wine in my mouth and a pile of firewood
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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?
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Writing at least is a silent meditation even though you’re going a hundred miles an hour.
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Sal, we gotta go and never stop going 'till we get there.' 'Where we going, man?' 'I don't know but we gotta go.
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