"Somehow it seems the evil thing should take care itself, or be rectified in organic tree of things. But these deliberations ah-vail not my old Sprowf Bollnock – listen to me, Jacky, kid, boy that comes with me – though doubts and tears are roused up by the rain, wherein I know the rose is flowing, and it’s more natural I lay me down and make peace with bleak embattled eternity, in my rawer bed of dolors, with eyes of the night and soul shrouds, to keep my balanced fingers in – among the shades of arcade shafts, friends and fellow Evangelians of the Promised North – ever promised, ever-never yielding North shroud ghost of upper snow, rale of snowy singers wailing in the Arctic-speared, solitude night – I go and make my mention, I go and seek my tremble.”
Kerouac, Jack. Doctor Sax. Grove Press, New York, 1959. Pages 218-219
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