Jack Kerouac

I'm back in these regions of fumbling dark uncertain creation, but it's my one and only world, and I'll do the best I can.

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...

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

the golden eternity is { }

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.

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.

And the story of love is a long sad tale ending in graves.

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

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.

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 don't get wrinkled.Face it, the really great fucks in a man's 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.

Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk _ real straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious.

It__ a sort of furtiveness _ Like we were a generation of furtive. You know, with an inner knowledge there__ no use flaunting on that level, the level of the __ublic_, a kind of beatness _ I mean, being right down to it, to ourselves, because we all really know where we are _ and a weariness with all the forms, all the conventions of the world _ It__ something like that. So I guess you might say we__e a beat generation.

My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.

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.

Hateful bitch of a world, it wouldn't ever last.

After all, a homeless man has reason to cry, everything in the world is pointed against him.

We've got to have mind-collecting weeks in our zendos where your mind tries to fly off like a Tinker Toy and like a good soldier you put it back together with your eyes closed except of course the whole thing is wrong.

Thinking of the stars night after night I begin to realize 'The stars are words' and all the innumerable worlds in the Milky Way are words, and so is this world too. And I realize that no matter where I am, whether in a little room full of thought, or in this endless universe of stars and mountains, it__ all in my mind.