Sal Paradise: The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.
Carlo Marx: I really wish I could drink whiskey like a man. All these guys are like: "Hey! Do a shot!"
Dean Moriarty: Alas, alas, Sal. It's not me, I'm drunk. But my soul talking direct soul language, so to speak, to my deepest blood brother and holy goof, that's you. And to be formal and analytical about it, let me objectify the characteristics I miss the most of you. Number 1 your conversation. Number 2 your brotherly smile, man. But I shall go on, so to close and get the gist Denver waits for you. Carlo in his damp grotto and clowned misery to use a paradox of expression waits for you, so get on it! Be quick and hurry to me, no delay. Bring Paradise to Denver. Bring Paradise to Denver. And I love you as ever. Dean, Drunk.
Carlo Marx: This is the first time actual sex has been part of my relationship with a man. And this is how you love.