Quotes About Adventure

the only people that interest me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yearn or say a commonplace thing … but burn, burn, burn like roman candles across the night.

Senevabitch Jackcrack, vugup huh?

Once upon a time there'd been a blue-eyed sea captain dining in here.

I like my whiskey wild

The eyes of hope looking over the flare of the hood into the maw with its white line feeding in straight as an arrow, the lighting of fresh cigarettes, the buckling to lean forward to the next adventure something that's been going on in America ever since the covered wagons clocked the deserts in three months flat—

we pass the fields of Perry and Madrone and where they make wine, and it's all there, all sweet the furrows of brown, with blossoms and one time we took a siding to wait for 98 and I ran out there like the hound of the Baskervilles and got me a few old prunes not longer fitten to eat - the propietor seeing me, trainman running guiltily back to engine with a stolen prune, always I was running, always was running, running to throw switches, running in my sleep and running now - happy.

But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.

The straight line will take you only to death.

I ate apple pie and ice cream—it was getting better as I got deeper into Iowa, the pie bigger, the ice cream richer.

I wished Dean and Carlo were there—then I realized they'd be out of place and unhappy. They were like the man with the dungeon stone and the gloom, rising from the underground, the sordid hipsters of America, a new beat generation that I was slowly joining. The

With the coming of Dean Moriarity began the part of my life you could call my life on the road.

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!" What did they call such young people in Goethe's Germany?

one of the biggest troubles hitchhiking is having to talk to innumerable people, make them feel that they didn't make a mistake picking you up, even entertain them almost, all of which is a great strain when you are going all the way and don't plan to stay in hotels.

Ä°nsanlardan uzakla??rken arkana bak?p da onlar? yavaÅŸ yavaÅŸ gözden kaybolan birer leke olarak gördüÄŸünde kap?ld???n o duygu nedir? Fazlas?yla büyük olan dünyan?n bizi içine yuvarlamas?d?r, vedad?r bu. Ne ki, gökyüzünün alt?nda bizi bir bekleyen bir sonraki ç?lg?n serüvene doÄŸru uzan?r?z yine.

Although my aunt warned me that he would get me in trouble, I could hear a new call and see a new horizon...

The whole purpose of mountain-climbing to me isn't just to show off you can get to the top, it's getting out to this wild country.

They found it, they lost, they wrestled for it, they found it again, they laughed, they moaned—and Dean sweated at the table and told them to go, go, go. At nine o'clock in the morning everybody—musicians, girls in slacks, bartenders, and the one little skinny, unhappy trombonist—staggered out of the club into the great roar of Chicago day to sleep until the wild bop night again.

Port Allen – onde o rio é todo chuva e rosas sob uma escuridão nebulosa e insignificante, onde entramos numa estrada sinuosa sob a luminosidade amarelada da neblina, e, de repente, numa volta, vislumbramos o viscoso vulto volátil escoando suas águas sob a ponte e cruzamos outra vez a eternidade.

The endless poem.

Then Indiana fields again, and St. Louis as ever in its great valley clouds of afternoon. The muddy cobbles and the Montana logs, the broken steamboats, the ancient signs, the grass and the ropes by the river. The endless poem.

arrastraba los pies tras ellos como he venido haciendo toda mi vida con la gente que me interesa, porque la única gente que me interesa es la que está loca, la que está loca por vivir, por hablar, ávida de todas las cosas a un tiempo, la gente que jamás bosteza o dice un lugar común..., sino que arde, arde, arde como candelas romanas en medio de la noche.

I had been spending a quiet Christmas in the country, as I realized when we got back into the house and I saw the Christmas tree, the presents, and smelled the roasting turkey and listened to the talk of the relatives, but now the bug was on me again, and the bug's name was Dean Moriarty and I was off on another spurt around the road.

As in a dream we zoomed through small crossroads towns smack out of the darkness, and passed long lines of lounging harvest hands and cowboys in the night.

Ce n'è ancora, di strada