Jack Kerouac was an American novelist, writer, poet, and artist. He is perhaps the best known of a group of writers and friends who came to be known as the Beat Generation, a term he himself created.Kerouac's work was popular, but received little critical acclaim during his lifetime.
Let this list of 48 quotations by the American novelist Jack Kerouac lead you to an inspirational day. Recharge yourself with motivational life, people, live sayings, and satisfy your hunger for a better life.
What are the best Jack Kerouac quotes?
We've made this hand-picked collection of quotes to show you what is Jack Kerouac truly willing to say and leave for generations. Whether an inspirational quote or a motivational message about giving your best, we can all benefit from the wisdom, captured within these words.
I don't know, I don't care, and it doesn't make any difference!
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.
Because in the end, you won't remember the time you spent working in the office of mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain.
All of life is a foreign country.
All human beings are also dream beings. Dreaming ties all mankind together.
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.
Be in love with your life. Every minute of it.
I want to work in revelations, not just spin silly tales for money.
I want to fish as deep down as possible into my own subconscious in the belief that once that far down, everyone will understand because they are the same that far down.
Mankind is like dogs, not gods - as long as you don't get mad they'll bite you - but stay mad and you'll never be bitten. Dogs don't respect humility and sorrow.
It is not my fault that certain so-called bohemian elements have found in my writings something to hang their peculiar beatnik theories on.
Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don't be sorry.
Down on the lake rosy reflections of celestial vapor appeared, and I said, God, I love you and looked to the sky and really meant it. I have fallen in love with you, God. Take care of us all, one way or the other. To the children and the innocent it's all the same.
And the Hippos were boiled in their tanks!
All our best men are laughed at in this nightmare land.
Much mysticism is sown broadspread from its ritual mysteries till it extends into the very lives of its constituents and parishoners.
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.
My witness is the empty sky.
All my editors since Malcolm Cowley have had instructions to leave my prose exactly as I wrote it. In the days of Malcolm Cowley, with 'On the Road' and 'The Dharma Bums', I had no power to stand by my style for better or for worse.
Notoriety and public confession in the literary form is a frazzler of the heart you were born with, believe me.
A pain stabbed my heart as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world.
I didn't dictate sections of 'Visions of Cody'.
I typed up a segment of taped conversation with Neal Cassady, or Cody, talking about his early adventures in L.A. It's four chapters.
When the railroad trains moaned, and river-winds blew, bringing echoes through the vale, it was as if a wild hum of voices, the dear voices of everybody he had known, were crying: Peter, Peter! Where are you going, Peter? And a big soft gust of rain came down.
He put up the collar of his jacket, and bowed his head, and hurried along.
Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny car in the night?
I know who the great poets are.
My manners, abominable at times, can be sweet.
I got all my boyhood in vanilla winter waves around the kitchen stove.
Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.
My father and my mother and my sister and I have always voted Republican, always.
Symbolism is alright in 'fiction,' but I tell true life stories simply about what happened to people I knew.
I stood in the middle of the room flipping and Pusher was plucking at the guitar, just one string, and I went up to him and said, 'Man don't pluck those dirty notes at ME,' and like he just got up without a word and left. [Mardou]
You can't teach the old maestro a new tune.
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... burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles.
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...
Maybe that's what life is... a wink of the eye and winking stars.
I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till i drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.
I was just looking at the jukebox. Just playing records. She said, You want to play with me?I said, Sure. How much?She says, Five bucks, two dollars for the room.Was it nice, Jack?All women are nice.
But then they danced down the street like dingledodies, and shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because 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 and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes Awww!.
It's hard to write haiku. I write long, silly Indian poems.
Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again;
we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.
I made myself famous by writing 'songs' and lyrics about the beauty of the things I did and ugliness, too.
I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life.
I'm not a beatnik. I'm a Catholic.
Accept loss forever.
No man should go through life without once experiencing healthy, even bored solitude in the wilderness, finding himself depending solely on himself and thereby learning his true and hidden strength.
My story is endless. I put in a teletype roll, you know, you know what they are, you have them in newspapers, and run it through there and fix the margins and just go, go - just go, go, go.
As you get older, you get more... genealogical.
Offer them what they secretly want and they of course immediately become panic-stricken.
I'm really Wallace Beery in 'The Champ.'
Avoid the world, it's just a lot of dust and drag and means nothing in the end.