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While looking for the light, you may suddenly be devoured by the darkness and find the true light

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
Suddenly
Darkness
Looking
True
Light
May
Find
Devoured

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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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As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind.
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Burroughs is the greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift. . . . The net result of Naked Lunch will be to make people shudder at their own lies, will be to make them open up and be straight with one another. Swift and Rabelais and Sterne accomplished a step in that direction, and Burroughs another.
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But, outside of being a sweet little girl, she was awfully dumb and capable of doing horrible things.
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For the first time in my life the weather was not something that touched me, that caressed me, froze or sweated me, but became me.
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Everything is ecstasy inside. We just don't know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind [it] is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever.
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Down in Denver, all I did was die.
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Writing at least is a silent meditation even though you’re going a hundred miles an hour.
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You don't know what to say to me because the kingdom is within...flesh and blood's dream...so you fly now, pay later, all of us...I mean actually it's PAY NOW, FLY LATER
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Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.
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Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.
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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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Paris is a woman but London is an independent man puffing his pipe in a pub.
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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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Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgandy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries.
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Who knows, my God, but that the universe is not one vast sea of compassion actually, the veritable holy honey, beneath all this show of personality and cruelty?
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I was suddenly left with nothing in my hands but a handful of crazy stars.
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But why think about that when all the golden lands ahead of you and all kinds of unforseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?
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Everything is perfect on the street again, the world is permeated with roses of happiness all the time, but none of us know it. The happiness consists in realizing that it is all a great strange dream.
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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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