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At night I closed my eyes and saw my bones threading the mud of my grave.

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
Saws
Eyes
Eye
Threading
Night
Mud
Grave
Closed
Graves
Bones

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don't stop to think of the words when you do stop, just stop to think of the picture better-and let your mind off yourself in this work.
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Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind.
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Listen closely... the eternal hush of silence goes on and on throughout all this, and has been going on, and will go on and on. This is because the world is nothing but a dream and is just thought of and the everlasting eternity pays no attention to it.
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It all ends in tears anyway.
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No time for poetry but exactly what is.
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It is not my fault that certain so-called bohemian elements have found in my writings something to hang their peculiar beatnik theories on.
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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 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 wish the whole world was dead serious about food instead of silly rockets and machines and explosives using everybody's food money to blow their heads off anyway.
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Whenever spring comes to New York I can't stand the suggestion of the land that come blowing over the river from New Jersey and I've got to go. So I went.
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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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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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We were on the roof of America and all we could do was yell
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Isn't it true that you start your life a sweet child believing in everything under your father's roof? Then comes the day of the Laodiceans, when you know you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked, and with the visage of a gruesome grieving ghost you go shuddering through nightmare life.
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Believe that the world is an ethereal flower, and ye live.
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I realized either I was crazy or the world was crazy and I picked on the world. And of course I was right.
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When you start separating people from their rivers, what have you got? Bureaucracy!
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Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition.
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Forgive everyone for your own sins and be sure to tell them you love them which you do.
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Aw I don't wanta go to no such thing, I just wanta drink in alleys.'... But you'll miss all that, just for some old wine.' There's wisdom in wine, goddam it!' I yelled. 'Have a shot!
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