A Quote by Jack Kerouac

All he needed was a wheel in his hand and four on the road. — © Jack Kerouac
All he needed was a wheel in his hand and four on the road.
It's pretty amazing to see a guy, while steering at the wheel, suddenly raise his little 300 dollar German camera with one hand and snap something that's on the move in front of him, and through an unwashed windshield at that. (On the road with Robert Frank, 1958)
When I started driving our old four-door green DeSoto, I always took Skip on my trips around town. I would get Skip to prop himself against the steering wheel, his black head peering out of the windshield, while I crouched out of sight under the dashboard. Slowing the car to ten or fifteen, I would guide the steering wheel with my right hand while Skip, with his paws, kept it steady. As we drove by the Blue Front Café, I could hear one of the men shout: "Look at that ol' dog drivin' a car!"
There is a wheel within a wheel; a secret sacred wheel of Providence (most visible in marriages), guided by His hand that allows not the race to the swift nor bread to the wise, nor good wives to good men: and He that can bring good out of evil (for mortals are blind to this reason) only knows why this blessing was denied to patient Job, to meek Moses, and to our as meek and patient Mr Hooker.
He who puts out his hand to stop the wheel of history will have his fingers crushed.
The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, Perrin. We've become what we needed to become."- Rand Al'Thor
Nobody is born with a steering wheel or a gear shift in his hand. It's something you choose to do or you don't.
The interesting thing is that as soon as Gwen said, 'Let's go on the road,' we were all like, 'Let's go on the road!' Four adults turned into four giggly children.
There are times I'm approaching turns with my right hand on the brake lever, I'm downshifting with my fingers, I'm controlling the throttle with my left hand and steering into the corner with only one hand on the wheel. I feel a bit like Jimi Hendrix: I play with both my hands.
The wheel of the Good Law moves swiftly on. It grinds by night and day. The worthless husks it drives from out the golden grain, the refuse from the flour. The hand of fate guides the wheel; the revolutions mark the beatings of the heart of manifestation.
When Jack Burns needed to hold his mother's hand, his fingers could see in the dark.
Four flips the gun in this hand, presses the barrel to Peter's forehead, and clicks a bullet into place. Peter freezes with his lips parted, the yawn dead in his mouth. "Wake. Up," Four snaps. "You are holding a loaded gun, you idiot. Act like it.
I took care of my wheel as one would look after a Rolls Royce. If it needed repairs I always brought it to the same shop on Myrtle Avenue run by a negro named Ed Perry. He handled the bike with kid gloves, you might say. He would always see to it that neither front nor back wheel wobbled. Often he would do a job for me without pay, because, as he put it, he never saw a man so in love with his bike as I was.
I drop the other Chest to the ground in shock. "What number are you? I'm Four." He squints at me and then offers his hand. "I'm Nine. Good job staying alive, Number Four.
Across from me at the next row of supports Jim raised his hand and touched his fingers to his thumb a few times, imitating an opening and closing beak. Negotiate. He wanted me to engage a lunatic who had already turned four people into smoking meat. Okay. I could do that. “Alright, Jeremy!” I yelled into the night. “Give me the salamander and I won’t cut your head off!” Jim put his hand over his face and did some shaking. I thought he was laughing, but I couldn’t be sure.
Jesus, take the wheel Take it from my hands 'Cause I can't do this on my own I'm letting go So give me one more chance To save me from this road I'm on Jesus, take the wheel
The black man continues on his way. He plods wearily no longer-he is striding freedom road with the knowledge that if he hasn't got the world in a jug, at least he has the stopper in his hand.
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