It’s a sort of furtiveness … Like we were a generation of furtive. You know, with an inner knowledge there’s no use flaunting on that level, the level of the ‘public’, a kind of beatness – I mean, being right down to it, to ourselves, because we all really know where we are – and a weariness with all the forms, all the conventions of the world … It’s something like that. So I guess you might say we’re a beat generation.
Interpretation
The quote reflects a generation's sense of secretive understanding and fatigue with societal norms.
Jack Kerouac's quote encapsulates the essence of the Beat Generation, highlighting their internal awareness and exhaustion with conventional societal expectations. This sense of 'furtiveness' denotes a shared, unspoken understanding among individuals who feel disconnected from mainstream culture, emphasizing the authenticity of self-awareness over public display. The Beat Generation sought to explore deeper truths and engage genuinely with themselves rather than conforming to the superficial conventions of their time.
In practice
During a lecture on cultural movements, this quote can be used to illustrate the sentiments of the Beat Generation.
Dharma Bums refusing to subscribe to the general demand that they consume production and therefore have to work for the privilege of consuming, all that cramp they didn't really want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, at least new fancy cars, certain hair oils and deodorants and general junk you finally always see a week later in the garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume.
I was amazed by the fact that I was not the only writer living, not the only young man "with a locomotive in his chest, and that's a fact," not the only youth with a million hungers and not one of them appeasable, not the only one who is lonely among multitudes, and does not know why.
My aunt once said that the world would never find peace until men fell at their women's feet and asked for forgiveness.
The bus roared through Indiana cornfields that night; the moon illuminated the ghostly gathered husks; it was almost Halloween. I made the acquaintance of a girl and we necked all the way to Indianapolis. She was nearsighted. When we got off to eat I had to lead her by the hand to the lunch counter. She bought my meals; my sandwiches were all gone. In exchange I told her long stories.
Holding up my purring cat to the moon. I sighed.
It seemed like a matter of minutes when we began rolling in the foothills before Oakland and suddenly reached a height and saw stretched out ahead of us the fabulous white city of San Francisco on her eleven mystic hills with the blue Pacific and its advancing wall of potato-patch fog beyond, and smoke and goldenness in the late afternoon of time.
Heaven does without doing through its purity, Earth does without doing through its calmness.
As long as a person is involved with warfare, trying to defend or attack, then his action is not sacred; it is mundane, dualistic, a battlefield situation.
When we have emotions of fear and pity toward the hero of a tragedy, we explore aspects of our own vulnerability in a safe and pleasing setting.
We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love;_x000D_ _x000D_ And, even as these are well and wisely fixed,_x000D_ _x000D_ In dignity of being we ascend.
What strikes the historian surveying anti-Semitism worldwide over more than two millennia is its fundamental irrationality. It seems to make no sense, any more than malaria or meningitis makes sense.
War is America's central liturgical act necessary to renew our sense that we are a nation unlike other nations.
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