If only I had the magic self of babyhood when I remembered what it was like before I was born, I wouldn't worry about death now knowing both to be th… - Jack Kerouac

Be in love with your life every detail of it

Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny car in the night?

And what does the rain say at night in a small town, what does the rain have to say? Who walks beneath dripping melancholy branches listening to the rain? Who is there in the rain’s million-needled blurring splash, listening to the grave music of the rain at night, September rain, September rain, so dark and soft? Who is there listening to steady level roaring rain all around, brooding and listening and waiting, in the rain-washed, rain-twinkled dark of night?