Quote

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.

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
Country
Cooks
Work
Woods
Food
Cans
Fire
Tin
Rich
Fires
Rather
Wood
Around
Hops
Home
Cook

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His friends said, Why do you have that ugly thing hanging there? and Bull said, I like it because it's ugly. All his life was in that line.
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If you own a rug you own too much.
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They spent all week saving pennies and went out Saturdays to spend fifty bucks in three hours.
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In those days he really didn't know what he was talking about that is to say, he was a young jailkid all hung-up on the wonderful possibilities of becoming a real intellectual, and he liked to talk in the tone and using the words, but in a jumbled way, that he had heard from 'real intellectuals.
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Practice kindness all day to everybody and you will realize you're already in heaven now.
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You'd be surprised how little I knew even up to yesterday
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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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I'm not a beatnik. I'm a Catholic.
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The page is long, blank, and full of truth. When I am through with it, it shall probably be long, full, and empty with words.
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Believe that the world is an ethereal flower, and ye live.
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At night I closed my eyes and saw my bones threading the mud of my grave.
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When the railroad trains moaned, and river-winds blew, bringing echoes through the vale, it was as if a wild hum of voices, the dear voices of everybody he had known, were crying: Peter, Peter! Where are you going, Peter? And a big soft gust of rain came down. He put up the collar of his jacket, and bowed his head, and hurried along.
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It is possible for the human spirit to win after all.
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I don't wanta hear all your word descriptions of words words words you made up all winter, man I wanta be enlightened by actions.
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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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Burroughs is the greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift.
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The happiness consists in realizing that it is all a great strange dream.
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i wish the whole world was dead serious about food instead of silly rockets and machines and explosives using everybody's food money to blow their heads off anyway.
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Details are the Life of Prose.
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If you dont [sic] say what you want, what's the sense of writing?
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