Quote

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.

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
Rhythm
Sounds
Heavy
Boulder
Dance
Boulders
Easier
Pack
Sound
Packs
Fall
Jumping
Never
Falling

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We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell
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Burroughs is the greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift.
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Everything is perfect on the street again, the world is permeated with roses of happiness all the time, but none of us know it. The happiness consists in realizing that it is all a great strange dream.
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Things are so hard to figure out when you live from day to day in this feverish and silly world.
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An awful realization that I have been fooling myself all my life thinking there was a next thing to do to keep the show going and actually I'm just a sick clown and so is everybody else
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It was a rainy night. It was the myth of the rainy night.
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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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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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The air was so sweet in New Orleans it seemed to come in soft bandannas and you could smell the river and really smell the people, and mud, and molasses, and every kind of tropical exhalation, with your nose suddenly removed from the dry ices of a Northern winter.
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But, outside of being a sweet little girl, she was awfully dumb and capable of doing horrible things.
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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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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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Will you love me in December as you do in May?
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Some's bastards, some's ain't. That's the score.
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The taste of rain -- Why kneel?
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Pain or love or danger makes you real again.
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I realized that I had died and been reborn numberless times but just didn't remember because the transitions from life to death and back are so ghostly easy, a magical action for naught, like falling asleep and waking up again a million times, the utter casualness and deep ignorance of it.
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equally empty, equally to be loved, equally a coming Buddha
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