Quote

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.

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
Realizing
Permeated
Happiness
Roses
Perfect
Consists
Dream
Rose
Everything
Street
Great
None
Time
Streets
World
Strange

More quotes by Jack Kerouac

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I'm going to marry my novels and have little short stories for children.
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Holy flowers floating in the air, were all these tired faces in the dawn of Jazz America.
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Maybe that's what life is... a wink of the eye and winking stars.
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Pretty girls make graves
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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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I don't know, I don't care, and it doesn't make any difference.
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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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Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.
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The Beat Generation, that was a vision that we had, John Clellon Holmes and I, and Allen Ginsberg in an even wilder way, in the late forties, of a generation of crazy, illuminated hipsters suddenly rising and roaming America, serious, bumming and hitchhiking everywhere, ragged, beatific, beautiful in an ugly graceful new way.
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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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Man lowers his head and lunges into civilization, forgetting the days of his infancy when he sought truth in a snowflake or a stick. Man forgets the wisdom of the child.
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Mind is the Maker, for no reason at all, for all this creation, created to fall.
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Sure baby, mañana. It was always mañana. For the next few weeks that was all I heard––mañana a lovely word and one that probably means heaven.
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Genius gives birth, talent delivers.
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Will you love me in December as you do in May?
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His friends said, Why do you have that ugly thing hanging there? and Bull said, I like it because it's ugly. All his life was in that line.
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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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I'd better be a poet Or lay down dead.
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We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell
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While looking for the light, you may suddenly be devoured by the darkness and find the true light
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