Quote

Dean and I both swayed to the rhythm and the IT of our final excited joy in talking and living to the blank traced end of all innumerable riotous angelic particulars that had been lurking in our souls all our lives.

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
Soul
Rhythm
Traced
Souls
Angelic
Excited
Innumerable
Joy
Lurking
Talking
Dean
Lives
Blank
Riotous
Living
Final
Swayed
Ends
Finals
Particulars

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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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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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Are we fallen angels who didn't want to believe that nothing is nothing and so were born to lose our loved ones and dear friends one by one and finally our own life, to see it proved?
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I'd rather hop freights around the country and cook my food out of tin cans over wood fires, than be rich and have a home or work.
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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 felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all
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Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.
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Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition.
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No man should go through life without once experiencing healthy, even bored solitude in the wilderness, finding himself depending solely on himself and thereby learning his true and hidden strength
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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.
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And the Hippos were boiled in their tanks!
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And this is the way a novel gets written, in ignorance, fear, sorrow, madness, and a kind of psychotic happiness as an incubator for the wonders being born.
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I'm right there, swimming the river of hardships but I know how to swim.
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You seek identity in the midst of indistinguishab le chaos, in sprawling nameless reality.
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And when the fog's over and the stars and the moon come out at night it'll be a beautiful sight.
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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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A pain stabbed my heart as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world.
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What's in store for me in the direction I don't take?
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Burroughs is the greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift.
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Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.
Jack Kerouac