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When you clean up a city, you destroy it.

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
Cities
Destroy
Clean
City

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Show me a man who lives alone and has a perpetually clean kitchen, and 8 times out of 9 I'll show you a man with detestable spiritual qualities.
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We do not abandon ship. I say, as corny as it may sound, through the strength and spirit and fire and dare and gamble of a few men in a few ways we can save the carcass of humanity from drowning. No light goes out until it goes out. Let's fight as men, not rats. Period. No further addition.
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Disneyland remains the central attraction of Southern California, but the graveyard remains our reality.
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WHEN YOU LEAVE YOUR TYPEWRITER YOU LEAVE YOUR MACHINE GUN AND THE RATS COME POURING THROUGH.
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Sexual intercourse is kicking death in the ass while singing.
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my greatest problem was stamps, envelopes, paper and wine, with the world on the edge of World War II.
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People who believe in politics are like people who believe in God: they are sucking wind through bent straws.
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Don't ever write a novel unless it hurts like a hot turd coming out.
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My flesh looked like it wasn't trying. It looked like it hated being part of me.
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some moments are nice, some are nicer, some are even worth writing about.
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People don't need love. What they need is success in one form or another. It can be love but it needn't be.
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I feel strangely normal.
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from the beginning, through the middle years and up to the end: too bad, too bad, too bad.
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My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover. ~ Falsely yours
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We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus!
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The hangover was brutal but he didn't mind. It told him he had been somewhere else, someplace good.
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Basically, that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.
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Your writing, she said to me, it's so raw. It's like a sledgehammer, and yet it has humor and tenderness. . . .
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There is no hurry. Time means nothing to you.
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Once a woman turns against you, forget it. They can love you, then something turns in them. They can watch you dying in a gutter, run over by a car, and they'll spit on you.
Charles Bukowski