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There is a blessedness surely to be believed, and that is that everything abides in eternal ecstasy, now and forever.

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
Believed
Eternal
Forever
Everything
Abides
Blessedness
Ecstasy
Surely

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Believe that the world is an ethereal flower, and ye live.
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I don't know, I don't care, and it doesn't make any difference.
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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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Great things are not accomplished by those who yield to trends and fads and popular opinion.
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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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Something that you feel will find its own form.
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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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Ah, if I could realize, if I could forget myself and devote my meditations to the freeing, the awakening and the blessedness of all living creatures everywhere I'd realize what there is, is ecstasy.
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Some's bastards, some's ain't. That's the score.
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My life is a vast inconsequential epic.
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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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Burroughs is the greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift.
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Pretty girls make graves
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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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The smog was heavy, my eyes were weeping from it, the sun was hot, the air stank, a regular hell is L.A.
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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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And with joy you realize for the first time Thinking's just like not thinking — So I don't have to think any more.
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And I realize the unbearable anguish of insanity: how uninformed people can be thinking insane people are happy, O God, in fact it was Irwin Garden once warned me not to think the madhouses are full of happy nuts. (p. 200)
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Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind.
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Because I cannot write my native language and have no native home anymore, and am amazed by that horrible homelessness of all French-Canadian s abroad in America.
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