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We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell

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
Yell
Roof
America

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All is well, practice kindness, heaven is nigh.
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...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.
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Nothing ever happened - Not even this
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No time for poetry but exactly what is.
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Yeah, I said, but you're an artist. You don't believe in decency and honesty and gratitude. Where shall we eat?
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Prison is where you promise yourself the right to live.
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The empty blue sky of space says 'All this comes back to me, then goes again, and comes back again, then goes again, and I don't care, it still belongs to me
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I was suddenly left with nothing in my hands but a handful of crazy stars.
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Something that you feel will find its own form.
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Rest and be kind, you don't have to prove anything
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Isn't it true that you start your life a sweet child believing in everything under your father's roof? Then comes the day of the Laodiceans, when you know you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked, and with the visage of a gruesome grieving ghost you go shuddering through nightmare life.
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One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.
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It’s not that I can’t fall in love. It’s really that I can’t help falling in love with too many things all at once. So, you must understand why I can’t distinguish between what’s platonic and what isn’t, because it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
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I am young now and can look upon my body and soul with pride. But it will be mangled soon, and later it will begin to disintegrate, and then I shall die, and die conclusively. How can we face such a fact, and not live in fear?
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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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What does it mean that I am in this endless universe, thinking that I'm a man sitting under the stars on the terrace of the earth, but actually empty and awake throughout the emptiness and awakedness of everything? It means that I'm empty and awake, that I know I'm empty and awake, and that there's no difference between me and anything else.
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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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I wished I could explain it to those I loved, my mother, to Japhy, but there just weren't any words to describe the nothingness and purity of it. Is there a certain and definite teaching to be given to all living creatures? was the question probably asked to beetle browed snowy Dipankara, and his answer was the roaring silence of the diamond.
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If you dont [sic] say what you want, what's the sense of writing?
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I'm not a beatnik. I'm a Catholic.
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