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whiskey makes the heart beat faster but it sure doesn't help the mind and isn't it funny how you can ache just from the deadly drone of existence?
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
Sure
Drones
Help
Whiskey
Funny
Deadly
Helping
Ache
Makes
Beat
Doesn
Faster
Heart
Beats
Mind
Existence
Drone
More quotes by Charles Bukowski
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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People with no morals often considered themselves more free, but mostly they lacked the ability to feel or love.
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Love breaks my bones and I laugh
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Capitalism has survived communism. Now, it eats away at itself.
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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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I walk into the kitchen, look at the typer down there on the floor. It's a dirty floor. It's a dirty typer that types dirty stories
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I took no pride in my solitude but I was dependent on it. The darkness of the room was like sunlight to me.
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The Difference Between Art and Life is that Art is More Bearable
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You can steal my women but don't play with my whiskey.
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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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We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.
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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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Never envy a man his lady. Behind it all lays a living hell.
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It's 4:30 in the morning, it's always 4:30 in the morning.
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she’ mad but she’ magic. there’ no lie in her fire.
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I held her wrists and then I got it through the eyes: hatred, centuries deep and true. I was wrong and graceless and sick. all the things I had learned had been wasted. there was no creature living as foul as I and all my poems were false.
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There's a small balcony here, the door is open and I can see the lights of the cars on the Harbor Freeway south, they never stop, that roll of lights, on and on. All those people. What are they doing? What are they thinking? We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't.
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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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there's no clarity. there was never meant to be clarity.
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Sexual intercourse is kicking death in the ass while singing.
Charles Bukowski
