A Quote by Jack Kerouac

Swinging on delicate hinges the autumn leaf almost off the stem. — © Jack Kerouac
Swinging on delicate hinges the autumn leaf almost off the stem.
If your life is a leaf that the seasons tear off and condemn they will bind you with love that is graceful and green as a stem.
The common notions that we find in credit around us and infused into our souls by our fathers' seed, these seem to be the universal and natural ones. Whence it comes to pass that what is off the hinges of custom, people believe to be off the hinges of reason.
(Ravic speaking of a butterfly caught in the Louvre) In the morning it would search for flowers and life and the light honey of blossoms and would not find them and later it would fall asleep on millennial marble, weakened by then, until the grip of the delicate, tenacious feet loosened and it fell, a thin leaf of premature autumn.
Turn on its noiseless hinges, delicate sleep!
Religion hinges upon faith, politics hinges upon who can tell the most convincing lies or maybe just shout the loudest, but science hinges upon whether its conclusions resembe what actually happens.
Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death be like autumn leaves. Rabindranath Tagore What a simple thing death is, just as simple as the falling of an autumn leaf.
Nature, when undisturbed, is never monotonous, you know. Even when using green, the most frequent color on her palette, she throws in contrasting tints by way of expression, and you will seldom see two sides of a leaf of the same hue, and the leaf stem frequently gives a good dash of bronze or purple.
A single leaf falling autumn is everywhere.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
My motto was always to keep swinging. Whether I was in a slump or feeling badly or having trouble off the field, the only thing to do was keep swinging.
One of the things that makes a dead leaf fall to the ground is the bud of the new leaf that pushes it off the limb.
Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
The falling leaf that tells of autumn's death is, in a subtler sense, a prophecy of spring.
But memory is an autumn leaf that murmurs a while in the wind and then is heard no more.
'Ever seen a leaf - a leaf from a tree?' 'Yes.' I saw one recently - a yellow one, a little green, wilted at the edges. Blown by the wind. When I was a little boy, I used to shut my eyes in winter and imagine a green leaf, with veins on it, and the sun shining ...' 'What's this - an allegory?' "No; why? Not an allegory - a leaf, just a leaf. A leaf is good. Everything's good.'
Summer passes into autumn in some unimaginable point of time, like the turning of a leaf.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!