And he had a nice home in Ohio with wife, daughter, Christmas tree, two cars, garage, lawn, lawnmower, but he couldn't enjoy any of it because he really wasn't free. It was sadly true.
Jack KerouacIt’s a sort of furtiveness … Like we were a generation of furtive. You know, with an inner knowledge there’s no use flaunting on that level, the level of the ‘public’, a kind of beatness – I mean, being right down to it, to ourselves, because we all really know where we are – and a weariness with all the forms, all the conventions of the world … It’s something like that. So I guess you might say we’re a beat generation.
Jack KerouacTag: truth society mind self beat self-awareness beat-generation jack-kerouac
Yeah," I said, "but you're an artist. You don't believe in decency and honesty and gratitude. Where shall we eat?
Jack KerouacSome's bastards, some's ain't.
That's the score.
Holy flowers floating in the air, were all these tired faces in the dawn of Jazz America.
Jack KerouacThe bus roared on. I was going home in October. Everybody goes home in October.
Jack KerouacI looked. George Shearing. And as always he leaned his blind head on his pale hand, all ears opened like the ears of an elephant, listening to the American sounds and mastering them for his own English summer's-night use. Then they urged him to get up and play. He did. He played innumerable choruses with amazing chords that mounted higher and higher till the sweat splashed all over the piano and everybody listened in awe and fright. They led him off the stand after an hour. He went back to his dark corner, old God Shearing, and the boys said, 'There ain't nothin left after that.
Jack KerouacEvery now and then a clear harmonic cry gave new suggestions of a tune that would someday be the only tune in the word and would raise mean's souls to joy.
Jack KerouacTexas is undeniable...We were already almost out of America and yet definitely in it and in the middle of where it's maddest.
Jack KerouacLife was dense, dark, ancient. They watched Dean, serious and insane at his raving wheel, with eyes of hawks. All had their hands outstretched. They had come down from the back mountains and higher places to hold forth their hands for something they thought civilization could offer, and they never dreamed the sadness and the poor broken delusion of it.
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