Quotes About Spontaneity

Con la aparición de Dean Moriarty comenzó la parte de mi vida que podría llamarse mi vida en la carretera

Put down the pen someone else gave you. No one ever drafted a life worth living on borrowed ink. Get to San Francisco. Get to San Francisco in defiance of your geography, your ancestry and the lonely change rattling sad excuses in your pocket. Fuel up on pie and diner coffee and mystic visions and the freedom of not knowing what's coming next except that you're burning the road to outrun it.

Senevabitch Jackcrack, vugup huh?

I like my whiskey wild

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

The endless poem.

He began to learn Yes! to everything, just like Dean at this time, and hasn't stopped since.

Diamo e prendiamo e penetriamo in dolcezze incredibilmente complicate andando a zig zag da qualsiasi parte.

I think of Dean Moriarty.

To Slim Gaillard the whole world was just one big orooni.

Actually we were; the car was swaying as Dean and I both swayed to the rhythm and the IT of our final excited joy in talking and living to the blank tranced end of all innumerable riotous angelic particulars that had been lurking in our souls all our lives.

Victor proceeded to roll the biggest bomber anybody ever saw. He rolled (using brown bag paper) what amounted to a tremendous Corona cigar of tea. It was huge. Dean stared at it, popeyed. Victor casually lit it and passed it around. To drag on this thing was like leaning over a chimney and inhaling. It blew into your throat in one great blast of heat. We held our breaths and all let out just about simultaneously. Instantly we were all high.

On the Road be the first book I'd read or heard of with a built-in soundtrack.

quietly filled the gas tank, saw to it the bell didn't ring, and rolled off like an Arab with a five-dollar tankful of gas

And I 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!

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!" - Jack Kerouac

Las únicas personas que me interesan son los los locos, los que están locos por vivir, locos por hablar, locos por salvarse, los que lo desean todo a la vez, los que nunca bostezan ni hablan de lugares comunes, sino que arden, arden, arden como fuegos artificiales extraordinarios que explotan como arañas en las estrellas, y en el centro vemos estallar una luz azul, y todo el mundo dice «¡Uau!».

well, lackadaddy.

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! — Jack Kerouac (On the Road)

If this bores you it's because you want bricks in your soup

Oh, smell the people! yelled Dean with his face out the window, sniffing. Ah, God! Life!

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.

Perhaps the greatest charm of tramp-life is the absence of monotony. In Hobo Land the face of life is protean—an ever changing phantasmagoria, where the impossible happens and the unexpected jumps out of the bushes at every turn of the road. The hobo never knows what is going to happen the next moment; hence, he lives only in the present moment. He has learned the futility of telic endeavor, and knows the delight of drifting along with the whimsicalities of Chance

I don't like planning what am I gonna say to the crowd. Sometimes the show takes a whole different twist.