I was all alone by the fire and it was getting gray dawn in the east. “Boy, am I drunk!” I said. “Wake up! wake up!” I yelled. “The goat of day is butting dawn! No ifs or buts! Bang! Come on, you girls! gimps! punks! thieves! pimps! hangmen! Run!” Then I suddenly had the most tremendous feeling of the pitifulness of human beings, whatever they were, their faces, pained mouths, personalities, attempts to be gay, little petulances, feelings of loss, their dull and empty witticisms so soon forgotten: Ah, for what?
Kerouac, Jack. The Dharma Bums. New York: Penguin Books, 1976.