I'd rather hop freights around the country and cook my food out of tin cans over wood fires, than be rich and have a home or work.

The closer you get to real matter, rock air fire and wood, boy, the more spiritual the world is.

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.

This is the story of America. Everybody's doing what they think they're supposed to do.

...and performing our one and noble function of the time, move.

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.

Eager for bread and love.