Jack
Kerouac (March 12, 1922 – October 21, 1969):
All of life is a foreign country.
All our best men are laughed at in this nightmare land.
But, outside of being a sweet little girl, she was awfully dumb and
capable of doing horrible things.
Houses are full of things that gather dust.
I have nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.
I'm Catholic and I can't commit suicide, but I plan to drink myself to
death.
If moderation is a fault, then indifference is a crime.
Let there be joy in baseball again, like in the days when Babe Ruth
chased an enemy sportswriter down the streets of Boston and ended up
getting drunk with him on the waterfront and came back the next day
munching on hotdogs and boomed home runs to the glory of God.
Maybe that's what life is... a wink of the eye and winking stars.
My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of
control of them.
Offer them what they secretly want and they of course immediately become
panic-stricken.
One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.
Pretty girls make graves.
So long and take it easy, because if you start taking things seriously,
it is the end of you.
Somewhere along the line I knew there'd be girls, visions, everything;
somewhere along the line the pearl would be handed to me.
The beauty of things must be that they end.
The best teacher is experience and not through someone's distorted point
of view.
There are worse things than being mad.
There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under
the stars.
This is the story of America. Everybody's doing what they think they're
supposed to do.
Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny car in the night?
You can't fight City Hall. It keeps changing its name.
Categories:
Jack Kerouac,
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