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mercy, I think, doesn't the human race know anything about mercy?
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
Doesn
Anything
Human
Humans
Think
Thinking
Mercy
Race
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too often, the only escape is sleep
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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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Those who escape hell however never talk about it and nothing much bothers them after that
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People need me. I fill them. If they can't see me for a while they get desperate, they get sick. But if I see them too often I get sick. It's hard to feed without getting fed.
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I don't think I'll travel anymore. Travel is nothing but an inconvenience. There is always enough trouble where you are.
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In my next life I want to be a cat. To sleep 20 hours a day and wait to be fed. To sit around licking my ass.
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You've got to know when to let a woman go if you want to keep her,and if you don't want to keep her you let her go anyhow so it's always a process of letting go, one way or the other.
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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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I wanted the whole world or nothing.
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Bullfighting can be an art Boxing can be an art Loving can be an art Opening a can of sardines can be an art
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I was young I was so young it hurt like a knife inside because there was no alternative except to hide as long as possible--- not in self-pity but with dismay at my limited chance: trying to connect.
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It's better to do a dull thing with style than a dangerous thing without it.
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I drive around the streets an inch away from weeping, ashamed of my sentimentality and possible love.
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Are you becoming what you've always hated?
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you are yesterday's bouquet so sadly raided
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Something that never happens anywhere at any time.
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If you let them kill you, they will
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People were interesting at first. Then later, slowly but surely, all the flaws and madness would manifest themselves. I would become less and less to them they would mean less and less to me.
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I knew I was strong, and maybe like they said, crazy. But I had this feeling inside of me that something real was there.
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