Jack Kerouac
Born: 03-11-1922
Jack Kerouac was an influential American novelist and poet, renowned for his spontaneous and freewheeling writing style. A leading figure of the Beat Generation, he captured the spirit of post-war America in works like "On the Road" and "The Dharma Bums." Kerouac's exploration of spirituality, personal freedom, and counterculture left a lasting impact on American literature, inspiring countless writers and readers with his quest for authenticity and self-discovery.
Book summaries for books written by Jack Kerouac
Quotes
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, 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.
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.
The only ones for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, 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.
What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing?—it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.
The best teacher is experience and not through someone's distorted point of view
Sal, we gotta go and never stop going till we get there.
I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future, and maybe that’s why it happened right there and then, that strange red afternoon.
The air was soft, the stars so fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great, that I thought I was in a dream.
But why think about that when all the golden land's ahead of you and all kinds of unforeseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?
Because he had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere.
Kerouac’s style was too sketchy and rambling for me, I had a sense of his endless paragraphs unfurling like a vast sail across the sea. There was no land to be seen, the shore lost in the hazy distance, the paragraphs blurred into one another until they became a mere background hum, a meaningless white noise.
It isn't what you do or it isn't what you say, it's what you are.