The cruellest thing you can do to Kerouac is reread him at thirty-eight.

You don't stop loving someone just because you hate them.

I can't sleep with you tonight, baby, my head's all messed up, you've no idea. It's somewhere else and it's full of voices and songs and bad things.

What a quality of innocence people have when they don't expect to be harmed.

My guess is that she is uncomfortable in such an intransigent world but is unable to live accordingly to her own desire.

Without love, most of life remains concealed. Nothing is as fascinating as love, unfortunately.

England has become a squalid, uncomfortable, ugly place ... an intolerant, racist, homophobic, narrow-minded, authoritarian, rat-hole run by vicious, suburban-minded, materialistic philistines.