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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.

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
Air
Hell
Stank
Eyes
Smog
Eye
Weeping
Regular
Hot
Heavy
Sun

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When you start separating people from their rivers, what have you got? Bureaucracy!
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As far as I'm concerned the only thing to do is sit in a room and get drunk
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Return those shoes to the shoemaker Return this hand to my father This pillow to the pillowmaker Those slippers to the shop. That wainscot to the carpenter, But my mind my tranquil and eternal Mind Return it to whom?
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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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The taste of rain -- Why kneel?
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It was the work of the quiet mountains, this torrent of purity at my feet.
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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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Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition.
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Maybe that's what life is... a wink of the eye and winking stars.
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I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till i drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.
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The dream is already ended and we're already awake in the golden eternity.
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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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I'd rather be thin than famous but I'm fat paste that in your broadway show
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Be in love with your life, every detail of it.
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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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What do you want out of life? I asked, and I used to ask that all the time of girls.
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The unspeakable visions of the individual.
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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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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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I just won't sleep, I decided. There were so many other interesting things to do.
Jack Kerouac