Цитаты из книги On the Road: The Original Scroll

“What’s your road, man?---holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, any road. It’s an anywhere road for anybody anyhow.

This is one hell of a town.” Detroit is actually one of the worst towns possible in America. Its nothing but miles and miles of factories and the downtown section is no bigger than Troy N.Y except the population is way up in the millions.

The moment I saw her I knew I’d never go back to her: she was fat, her hair was clippt short, she wore overalls and munched on candy with one hand and drank beer with the other.

“What do you want out of life?” I wanted to take her and wring it out of her. She didn’t have the slightest idea what she wanted. She mumbled of jobs, movies, going to her grandmother’s for the summer, wishing she could go to New York and visit the Roxy, what kind of outfit she would wear---

As we crossed the Colorado-Utah border I saw God in the sky in the form of huge sunburning clouds above the desert that seemed to say to me “The day of wrath will come.”

Bill had seven separate personalities each growing worse and worse on the way down till finally he was a raving idiot and had to be restrained with chains.

the remembrance of some lost bliss that was probably experienced in the womb and can only be reproduced- -tho we hate to admit it- -in death.

My mother once said the world would never find peace until men fell at their women’s feet and asked for forgiveness.

It was, so they say, the only community in America where whites and Negroes lived together voluntarily; and that was so, and a wild joyous place I’ve never seen since.

Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk---real straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious.

He wrote of Neal as a “child of the rainbow” who bore his torment in his agonised cock.

I suddenly began to realize that everybody in America is a natural born thief.

In October of 1948 Kerouac wrote in his journal that his ideas for On the Road “obsess me so much I can’t conceal them.” To Hal Chase on October 19 Kerouac wrote that his work plans “overflow out of me, even in bars with perfect strangers.”

Kerouac’s clattering typewriter is folded in with Jackson Pollock’s furious brushstrokes and Charlie Parker’s escalating and spiraling alto saxophone choruses

Kerouac was high on Benzedrine when he wrote On the Road

the story of how Jack Kerouac came to write On the Road became a legend.