Jack Kerouac Quotes

Paris is a woman but London is an independent man puffing his pipe in a pub.

The only people for me are the mad ones the ones who are mad to live mad to talk mad to be saved . . . the ones who never yawn and say a commonplace thing but burn burn burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.

I had nothing to offer anybody except for my own confusion

At least I had frost on my nose, boots on my feet, and protest in my mouth.

the road is life

I suddenly began to realize that everybody in America is a natural-born thief.

In winter night Massachusetts Street is dismal, the ground's frozen cold, the ruts and pock holes have ice, thin snow slides over the jagged black cracks. The river is frozen to stolidity, waits; hung on a shore with remnant show-off boughs of June-- Ice skaters, Swedes, Irish girls, yellers and singers--they throng on the white ice beneath the crinkly stars that have no altar moon, no voice, but down heavy tragic space make halyards of Heaven on in deep, to where the figures fantastic amassed by scientists cream in a cold mass; the veil of Heaven on tiaras and diadems of a great Eternity Brunette called night.

He lived with his mother, father and sister; had a room of his own, with the fourth-floor windows staring on seas of rooftops and the glitter of winter nights when home lights brownly wave beneath the heater whiter blaze of stars--those stars that in the North, in the clear nights, all hang frozen tears by the billions, with January Milky Ways like silver taffy, veils of frost in the stillness, huge blinked, throbbing to the slow beat of time and universal blood.