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That's the way it ends. The thin edge of the wedge.

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
Wedge
Wedges
Thin
Edge
Edges
Ends
Way

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I still have a little whiskey left and therefore a chance.
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I give you soul. I give you wisdom and light and music and a bit of laughter. Also, I am the world's greatest horseplayer.
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I remember awakening one morning and finding everything smeared with the color of forgotten love.
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if you get married they think you're finished and if you are without a woman they think you're incomplete.
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Meanwhile the 3 a.m. drunks of the world would lay in their beds, trying in vain to sleep, and deserving that rest, if they could find it.
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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 bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he's in there.
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Something that never happens anywhere at any time.
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The male, for all his bravado and exploration, is the loyal one, the one who generally feels love. The female is skilled at betrayal and torture and damnation.
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morning night and noon the traffic moves through and the murder and treachery of friends and lovers and all the people move through you. pain is the joy of knowing the unkindest truth that arrives without warning. life is being alone death is being alone. even the fools weep morning night and noon.
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All our days are marked with/ unexpected/ affronts--some/ disastrous, others/ less so/ but the process is/ wearing and/ continuous./ Attrition rules./ Most give/ way/ leaving/ empty spaces/ where people should/ be.
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It's 4:30 in the morning, it's always 4:30 in the morning.
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If I stop writing I am dead. And that's the only way I'll stop: dead.
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Cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. The less I needed the better I felt.
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You are thirty minutes late. Yes. Would you be thirty minutes late to a wedding or a funeral? No. Why not, pray tell? Well, if the funeral was mine I'd have to be on time. If the wedding was mine it would be my funeral.
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magic persists without us no matter what we may do to try to spoil it
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there is a place in the heart that will never be filled a space and even during the best moments and the greatest times times we will know it we will know it more than ever there is a place in the heart that will never be filled and we will wait and wait in that space.
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there must be a way. surely there must be a way that we have not yet thought of. who put this brain inside of me? it cries it demands it says that there is a chance. it will not say no.
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It’s hard to drink when you dance. And it’s hard to dance when you drink.
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Beware of those who seek constant crowds they are nothing alone.
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