My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them. Jack Kerouac More Quotes by Jack Kerouac More Quotes From Jack Kerouac Dharma Bums refusing to subscribe to the general demand that they consume production and therefore have to work for the privilege of consuming, all that cramp they didn't really want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, at least new fancy cars, certain hair oils and deodorants and general junk you finally always see a week later in the garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume. Jack Kerouac fancy-carsoilhair After all, a homeless man has reason to cry, everything in the world is pointed against him. Jack Kerouac crymenworld Lying mouth to mouth, kiss to kiss in the pillow dark, loin to loin in unbelievable surrendering sweetness so distant from all our mental fearful abstractions it makes you wonder why men have termed God antisexual somehow (p. 148) Jack Kerouac kissingdarklying Offer them what they secretly want and they of course immediately become panic-stricken. Jack Kerouac panicwisdomwant On soft Spring nights I'll stand in the yard under the stars - Something good will come out of all things yet - And it will be golden and eternal just like that - There's no need to say another word. Jack Kerouac starswisdomspring I rather like the idea of having all my hours to myself: eating a Fudge Sundae, watching a movie, sleeping on my couch, singing in the bathroom, studying the woods, kidding around with a girl, playing cards lazily - all kinds of stuff that American brands 'shiftless.' Jack Kerouac ice-creamgirlsleep Don't drink to get drunk. Drink to enjoy life. Jack Kerouac enjoy-lifedrunkdrinking When you start separating people from their rivers, what have you got? Bureaucracy! Jack Kerouac bureaucracyriverspeople LA is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities; NY gets god-awful cold in the winter but there's a feeling of wacky comradeship somewhere in some streets. LA is a jungle. Jack Kerouac citiesfeelingswinter She talks with a broken heart - Her voice lutes brokenly like a heart lost, musically too, like in a lost grove, it's almost too much to bear sometimes like some fantastic futuristic Jerry Southern singer in a nightclub who steps up to the mike in the spotlight in Las Vegas but doesn't even have to sing, just talk, to make men sigh and women wonder I guess. Jack Kerouac vegasheartmen I believed in a good home, in sane and sound living, in good food, good times, work, faith and hope. I have always believed in these things. It was with some amazement that I realized I was one of the few people in the world who really believed in these things without going around making a dull middle class philosophy out of it. I was suddenly left with nothing in my hands but a handful of crazy stars. Jack Kerouac starsphilosophylife I'm not a beatnik. I'm a Catholic. Jack Kerouac beatnikcatholic This was a manuscript of the night we couldn’t read. Jack Kerouac manuscriptsnight 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. Jack Kerouac tiredstarstravel a fool forgetting all the ideals and joys I knew before, in my recent years of drinking and disappointment, what does he care if he hasn't got any money: he doesn't need any money, all he needs is his rucksack with those little plastic bags of dried food and a good pair of shoes and off he goes and enjoys the privileges of a millionaire in surroundings like this. Jack Kerouac disappointmentdrinkingyears It ain't whatcha write, it's the way atcha write it. Jack Kerouac inspiration-to-writewritingway Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny car in the night? Jack Kerouac carnightamerica It'll take you eternities to get rid of me,' she adds sadly, which makes me jealous, I want her to say I'll never get rid of her - I wanta be chased till eternity till I catch her. Jack Kerouac jealouswantadd My witness is the empty sky. Jack Kerouac aquariusskytravel The bartenders are the regular band of Jack, and the heavenly drummer who looks up to the sky with blue eyes, with a beard, is wailing beer-caps of bottles and jamming on the cash register and everything is going to the beat - It's the beat generation, its béat, it's the beat to keep, it's the beat of the heart, it's being beat and down in the world and like oldtime lowdown. Jack Kerouac eyebeerheart
