- Jack Kerouac
What grabbed me, first, wasn’t the free-wheeling, world-exploring, enjoyment-exploding lifestyle. It was the sentences.
Kerouac writes sentences that carry you, that scream along. They run and run and catch their breath and yell at the top of their lungs. Sometimes he picks up the excitement in the voice of an excited kid, sometimes the free-stylings of a jazz performance, sometimes the open-throated roar of a plane passing by, and he writes it.
Then I picked up on the people, and they were like that too: Mad, screaming with joy, full of life and as far away from home as anyone could possibly imagine.
I read it. I got drunk on it. I wanted to write like that. I started hearing those voices, seeing those visions, screaming those Jack Kerouac screams.
Sometimes I still do.