Quote

...most of the time we were alone and mixing up our souls ever more and ever more till it would be terribly hard to say good-by.

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
Souls
Alone
Soul
Ever
Hard
Good
Mixing
Would
Terribly
Time
Till

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Holy flowers floating in the air, were all these tired faces in the dawn of Jazz America.
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all I wanted to do was sneak out into the night and disappear somewhere, and go and find out what everybody was doing all over the country.
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No time for poetry but exactly what is.
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And I will die, and you will die, and we all will die, and even the stars will fade out one after another in time.
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There is a blessedness surely to be believed, and that is that everything abides in eternal ecstasy, now and forever.
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Pretty girls make graves
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I was amazed by the fact that I was not the only writer living, not the only young man with a locomotive in his chest, and that's a fact, not the only youth with a million hungers and not one of them appeasable, not the only one who is lonely among multitudes, and does not know why.
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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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You are the equal of the idol who has given you your inspiration
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One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.
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As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind.
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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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What's your road, man? - holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, any road. It's an anywhere road for anybody anyhow. Where body how?
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He had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars.
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stick at it like a benni addict
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This was really the way my whole road experience began, and the things that were to come are too fantastic not to tell.
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Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition.
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I see as much as doors'll allow, open or shut.
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If you dont [sic] say what you want, what's the sense of writing?
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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.
Jack Kerouac