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Even the stove and the refrigerator looked human, I mean good human - they seemed to have arms and voices and they said, hang around, kid, it's good here, it can be very good here.
Charles Bukowski
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Charles Bukowski
Age: 73 †
Born: 1920
Born: August 16
Died: 1994
Died: March 9
Actor
Author
Autobiographer
Columnist
Diarist
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
Henry Charles Bukowski
Buk
charles bukowski
Good
Arms
Stove
Voice
Stoves
Kids
Refrigerator
Around
Refrigerators
Human
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Humans
Hang
Mean
Seemed
Even
Looked
More quotes by Charles Bukowski
Look, let me put it this way: with me, you’re number one and there isn’t even a number two.
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Those who escape hell however never talk about it and nothing much bothers them after that
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Figuring the average poet starts at 16, I am 23.
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The masses are always wrong...Wisdom is doing everything the crowd does not do. All you do is reverse the totality of their learning and you have the heaven they're looking for.
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Style means no shield at all. Style means no front at all. Style means ultimate naturalness. Style means one man alone with billions of men about.
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Your parents don't give you much love, do they?' 'I don't need that stuff,' I told her. 'Henry, everybody needs love.' 'I don't need anything.' 'You poor boy.
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Where some god pissed a rain of reason to make things grow only to die.
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Where did all the women come from? The supply was endless. Each one of them was individual, different. Their pussies were different, their kisses were different, their breasts were different, but no man could drink them all, there were too many of them, crossing their legs, driving men mad. What a feast!
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all that I know is that I believe in the sound of music and the running of a horse. all else is squabble.
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I would give anything for a female's hand on me tonight. they soften a man and then leave him listening to the rain.
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the masses are everywhere they know how to do things: they have sane and deadly angers for sane and deadly things.
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We waste days like mad blackbirds and pray for alcoholic nightsour silk-sick human smiles wrap around us like somebody else's confetti
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I am aware that a computer can’t create a poem, but neither can a typewriter.
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one can never be sure whether it's good poetry or bad acid
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she’ mad but she’ magic. there’ no lie in her fire.
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What were you going to do tonight? I was going to listen to the songs of Rachmaninoff. Who's that? A dead Russian.
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I never write in the daytime. It's like running through the shopping mall with your clothes off. Everybody can see you. At night ... that's when you pull the tricks ... magic.
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I don’t understand people, never will. It looks like I got to travel pretty much alone.
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Each man's hell is in a different place: mine is just up and behind my ruined face.
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I was fairly poor but most of my money went for wine and classical music. I loved to mix the two together.
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