"…besides which Lucille would never understand me because I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion."
—
On The Road, by Jack Kerouac. Pages 125-126 (via valderie)
From my favourite book
(via valderie)
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From my favourite book
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