Ken Kesey Quote
He raced the motor, urging the car to decide which way to turn onto the street. Come on, man . . . be serious. Gearshift hot as a poker, and ears ringing . . . finally, palm to face to somehow press away the ringing—I seemed to feel a tendoned hand playfully squeezing my knee, and a bagpipe’s whirling skirl wheezing in my throat—and discovers that he is weeping again; squeezing, wheezing and rattling the scene . . . and it is then—Or if you can’t be serious, I scolded, at least be rational; who could possibly in this wasted world . . . ?—that he remembers the postcard lying on the porch.
Ken Kesey
He raced the motor, urging the car to decide which way to turn onto the street. Come on, man . . . be serious. Gearshift hot as a poker, and ears ringing . . . finally, palm to face to somehow press away the ringing—I seemed to feel a tendoned hand playfully squeezing my knee, and a bagpipe’s whirling skirl wheezing in my throat—and discovers that he is weeping again; squeezing, wheezing and rattling the scene . . . and it is then—Or if you can’t be serious, I scolded, at least be rational; who could possibly in this wasted world . . . ?—that he remembers the postcard lying on the porch.
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