If you tell a true story, you can't be wrong. Jack Kerouac More Quotes by Jack Kerouac More Quotes From Jack Kerouac Holy flowers floating in the air, were all these tired faces in the dawn of Jazz America. Jack Kerouac tired flower air And this is the way a novel gets written, in ignorance, fear, sorrow, madness, and a kind of psychotic happiness as an incubator for the wonders being born. Jack Kerouac sorrow ignorance joy You have absolutely no regard but yourself and your damned kicks. All you think about is what's hanging between your legs and how much money or fun you can get out of people and then you just throw them aside. Not only that but you're silly about it. It never occurs to you that life is serious and that there are people trying to make something decent out of it instead of just goofing all the time. Jack Kerouac silly fun thinking We should be wondering tonight, "Is there a world?" But I could go and talk on 5, 10, 20 minutes about is there a world, because there is really no world, cause sometimes I'm walkin' on the ground and I see right through the ground. And there is no world. And you'll find out. Jack Kerouac tonight causes world the golden eternity is { } Jack Kerouac golden eternity 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. Jack Kerouac cities giving long What difference does it make after all?--anonymity in the world of men is better than fame in heaven, for what’s heaven? what’s earth? All in the mind. Jack Kerouac differences wisdom men I'd rather be thin than famous but I'm fat paste that in your broadway show Jack Kerouac fats broadway shows The bus roared through Indiana cornfields that night; the moon illuminated the ghostly gathered husks; it was almost Halloween. I made the acquaintance of a girl and we necked all the way to Indianapolis. She was nearsighted. When we got off to eat I had to lead her by the hand to the lunch counter. She bought my meals; my sandwiches were all gone. In exchange I told her long stories. Jack Kerouac halloween girl moon Nothing ever happened - Not even this Jack Kerouac happened I could hear Dean, blissful and blabbering and frantically rocking. Only a guy who's spent five years in jail can go to such maniacal helpless extremes; beseeching at the portals of the soft source, mad with a completely phsycial realization of the origins of life-bliss; blindly seeking to return the way he came Jack Kerouac origin-of-life jail years Paris is a woman but London is an independent man puffing his pipe in a pub. Jack Kerouac paris independent men 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. Jack Kerouac land new-york spring Eager for bread and love. Jack Kerouac and-love age love 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. Jack Kerouac cousin dream love And there in the blue air I saw for the first time, far off, the great snowy tops of the Rocky Mountains. I had to get to Denver at once. Jack Kerouac mountain air blue The truth of the matter is we don't understand our women; we blame on them and it's all our fault. Jack Kerouac blame faults matter Books, shmooks, this sickness has got me wishing if I can ever get out of this I'll gladly become a millworker and shut my big mouth. Jack Kerouac mouths wish book I went one afternoon to the church of my childhood and had a vision of what I must have really meant with "Beat"... the vision of the word Beat as being to mean beatific... People began to call themselves beatniks, beats, jazzniks, bopniks, bugniks and finally I was called the "avatar" of all this. Jack Kerouac childhood mean people The only people for me are the mad ones. The ones who are mad to love, mad to talk, mad to be saved the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars. Jack Kerouac
