Quote

She brooded and bit her rich lips: my soul began its first sink into her, deep, heady, lost like drowning in a witches' brew, Keltic, sorcerous, starlike.

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
Firsts
Witch
First
Began
Like
Lips
Brooded
Deep
Heady
Bits
Brew
Rich
Witches
Lost
Drowning
Soul
Sink

More quotes by Jack Kerouac

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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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The unspeakable visions of the individual.
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You seek identity in the midst of indistinguishab le chaos, in sprawling nameless reality.
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equally empty, equally to be loved, equally a coming Buddha
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and never really thought I'd amount to anything. It was precisely what I wanted the whole world to think then I could sneak in, if that's what they wanted, and sneak out again, which I did.
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the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.
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Dean's California--wild, sweaty, important, the land of lonely and exiled and eccentric lovers come to forgather like birds, and the land where everybody somehow looked like broken-down, handsome, decadent movie actors.
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And I said, 'That last thing is what you can't get, Carlo. Nobody can get to that last thing. We keep on living in hopes of catching it once and for all.
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Forgive everyone for your own sins and be sure to tell them you love them which you do.
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Parade my trouble in front of you guys? Make you realize that my heart is broken . . . that as long as I live I'll have chains dragging me down to the oceans of sad tears that my feet are wet in already.
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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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Goddamn it, FEELING is what I like in art, not CRAFTINESS and the hiding of feelings.
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So therefore I dedicate myself, to my art, my sleep, my dreams, my labors, my suffrances, my loneliness, my unique madness, my endless absorption and hunger because I cannot dedicate myself to any fellow being.
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If you dont [sic] say what you want, what's the sense of writing?
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Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.
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We fumed and screamed in our mountain nook, mad drunken Americans in the mighty land. We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell, I guess - across the night.
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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 just won't sleep, I decided. There were so many other interesting things to do.
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I felt free and therefore I was free.
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Somewhere along the line, the pearl would be handed to me.
Jack Kerouac