Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.
Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.
There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.
All he needed was a wheel in his hand and four on the road.
— all from Jack Kerouac, On the Road: The Original Scroll
I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling. — Jack Kerouac