And what do I think about? What thoughts do I have! - What thoughts! A whole host, multitude, and world of thoughts, I keep devising new ones and reworking old ones, some of the old ones are concluded and are only thought of as conclusions, whole worlds of new ones come crashing into my fingers, and it never ends.

— Jack Kerouac

And you have been forever, and will be forever, and all the worrisome smashing of your foot on innocent cupboard doors it was only the Void pretending to be a man pretending not to know the Void.

— Jack Kerouac

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.

— Jack Kerouac

A poet is a blind optimist. The world is against him Forman reasons. But the poet persists. He believes that he is on the right track, no matter what any of his fellow men say. In his eternal search for truth, the poet is alone. He tries to be timeless in a society built on time.

— Jack Kerouac

A scene should be selected by the writer for haunted-less-of-mind interest. If you're not haunted by something, as by a dream, a vision, or a memory, which are involuntary, you're not interested or even involved.

— Jack Kerouac

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

— Jack Kerouac

At night in this part of the West the stars, as I had seen them in Wyoming, were as big as Roman Candles and as lonely as the Prince who's lost his ancestral home and journeys across the spaces trying to find it again, and knows he never will.

— Jack Kerouac

Aw, I don't want ago to no such thing, I just want drink in alleys.'... But you'll miss all that, just for some old wine.' There's wisdom in wine, goddam it!' I yelled. 'Have a shot!

— Jack Kerouac

Because he had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars...

— Jack Kerouac

Because I am Beat, I believe in Beatitude and that God so loved the world He gave His only-begotten Son to it.

— Jack Kerouac