Quotes by Jack Kerouac

The trouble with fashions is you want to fuck the women in their fashions but when the time comes they always take them off so they dont get wrinkled.Face it, the really great fucks in a mans life was when there was no time to take yr clothes off, you were too hot and she was too hot - none of yr Bohemian leisure, this was middleclass explosions against snowbanks, against walls of shithouses in attics, on sudden couches in the lobby - Talk about yr hot peace.

I tried to bring up boyfriends and sex. Her great dark eyes surveyed me with emptiness and a kind of chagrin that reached back generations and generations in her blood from not having done what was crying to be done--whatever it was, and everybody knows what it was.

How is there laughter, how is there joy, as this world is always burning?

They put spotlights on me standing there in the road in jeans and workclothes, with the big woeful rucksack a-back, and asked:-Where are you going? which is precisely what they asked me a year later under Television floodlights in New York, Where are you going?-Just as you cant explain to the police, you cant explain to society Looking for peace.

A poet is a blind optimist.The world is against him formany reasons. But thepoet persists. He believesthat he is on the right track,no matter what any of his fellow men say. In hiseternal search for truth, thepoet is alone.He tries to be timeless in a society built on time.

Be in love with your life. Every minute of it.

After all this kind of fanfare, and even more, I came to a point where I needed solitude and to just stop the machine of thinking and enjoying what they call living, I just wanted to lie in the grass and look at the clouds...

Im back in these regions of fumbling dark uncertain creation, but its my one and only world, and Ill do the best I can.

Work from your own side of literature/ & room fetish, not publishings -

The innumerable worlds in the Milky Way, words.

I feel impossibly sad and like Ill die, what can we do?

Yet this book is to prove that no matter how you travel, how successful your tour, or foreshortened, you always learn something and learn to change your thoughts.

Who has believed in the world and died with its name on his lips?

Never dreaming, was I, poor Jack Duluoz, that the soul is dead. That from Heaven grace descends . . . No Doctor Pisspot Poorpail to tell me; no example inside my first and only skin. That love is the heritage, and cousin to death. That the only love can only be the first love, the only death the last, the only life within, and the only word . . . choked forever.

We lay on our backs, looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when He made life so sad. We made vague plans to meet in Frisco.

I realize all the uncountable manifestations the thinking-mind invents to place wall of horror before its pure perfect realization that there is no wall and no horror just Transcendental Empty Kissable Milk Light of Everlasting Eternitys true and perfectly empty nature.

Jesus was a strange hobo who walked on water—

One man practicing kindness in the wilderness is worth all the temples this world pulls.

What is that feeling when youre driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - its the too-huge world vaulting us, and its good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.

because he had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars...