And now, despite all, or perhaps because of all, of course, to finish the work of the novel once and for all. Got a letter from Neal, had an urge to answer right away, but would end up losing a day’s work on a fresh-beginning Monday, so will wait. Worked, slept, walked, worked grudgingly—then, in the middle of the night, a wonderful interlude for myself:—spaghetti with the blood-red sauce and meatballs, Parmesan, grated cheddar, chicken cuts, with red Italian wine and chocolate ice cream, black demitasse coffee, and a 28 cent Corona cigar; and the life of Goethe (and loves),—all in the kitchen. And I never planned this, I just did it. Then I went back to work at 2:00 A.M. Spent night correcting 50 pages of ancient manuscript and rewriting parts, now a 30-page chapter, to be typed. Went to bed at 7 A.M.
-Jack Kerouac, August 2, 1948
Source: Carpenter, Teresa, ed. New York Diaries: 1609 to 2009. New York: Modern Library, 2012. Print.