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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
Eyes
Smog
Eye
Weeping
Regular
Hot
Heavy
Sun
Air
Hell
Stank

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At night I closed my eyes and saw my bones threading the mud of my grave.
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The air was so sweet in New Orleans it seemed to come in soft bandannas and you could smell the river and really smell the people, and mud, and molasses, and every kind of tropical exhalation, with your nose suddenly removed from the dry ices of a Northern winter.
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I have fallen in love with you, God. Take care of us all, one way or the other.
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Rest and be kind, you don't have to prove anything
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In all this welter of women I still hadn't got one for myself, not that I was trying too hard, but sometimes I felt lonely to see everybody paired off and having a good time and all I did was curl up in my sleeping bag in the rosebushes and sigh and say bah. For me it was just red wine in my mouth and a pile of firewood
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I'm going to marry my novels and have little short stories for children.
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I just won't sleep, I decided. There were so many other interesting things to do.
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It was a rainy night. It was the myth of the rainy night.
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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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Ah, life is a gate, a way, a path to Paradise anyway, why not live for fun and joy and love or some sort of girl by a fireside, why not go to your desire and LAUGH.
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My eyes were glued on life and they were full of tears.
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Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition.
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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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There's wisdom in wine.
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Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.
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What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-by. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.
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I'm writing this book because we're all going to die.
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Believe that the world is an ethereal flower, and ye live.
Jack Kerouac
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I swore I'd be in Chicago tomorrow, and made sure of that, taking a bus to Chicago, spending most of my money, and didn't give a damn, just as long as I'd be in Chicago tomorrow.
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Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind.
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