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What a horror it would have been if the world was real, because if the world was real, it would be immortal.

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
Immortal
Horror
Real
Would
World

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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One night I realized that when you give people understanding and encouragement a funny little meek childish look abashes their eyes, no matter what they've been doing they weren't sure it was right - lambies all over the world.
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I'm not a beatnik. I'm a Catholic.
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You seek identity in the midst of indistinguishab le chaos, in sprawling nameless reality.
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Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind.
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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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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 like it because its ugly
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The cowboy music twanged in the roadhouse and carried across the fields, all sadness. It was all right with me. I kissed my baby and we put out the lights.
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Mind is the Maker, for no reason at all, for all this creation, created to fall.
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and don't you know that God is Pooh Bear?
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As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind.
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At night I closed my eyes and saw my bones threading the mud of my grave.
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As far as I'm concerned the only thing to do is sit in a room and get drunk
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You don't realize what a strain it is on the nerves to write or think-of-writing all day long, and to sleep full of nervous dreams, and to wake up not knowing who one is: this all stems from anxiety about finishing the book, about time 'growing short', etc., and the perpetual strain of invention.
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Sure baby, mañana. It was always mañana. For the next few weeks that was all I heard––mañana a lovely word and one that probably means heaven.
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And there in the blue air I saw for the first time, far off, the great snowy tops of the Rocky Mountains. I had to get to Denver at once.
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Practice kindness all day to everybody and you will realize you're already in heaven now.
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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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It ain't whatcha write, it's the way atcha write it.
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