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I remember awakening one morning and finding everything smeared with the color of forgotten love.
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
Finding
Forgotten
Color
Morning
Remember
Everything
Smeared
Love
Awakening
Findings
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Sometimes there's luck, When there is you stock up on it and wait for the other times
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They, all of them, seemed to put literary form in front of the actuality and living of life itself.
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I don't know if this is true to you but for me sometimes it gets so bad that anything else say like looking at a bird on an overhead power line seems as great as a Beethoven symphony. then you forget it and you're back again.
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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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It was only the matter of a new voice. Nobody listened to an old voice anymore. Old voices became a part of one's self, like a fingernail.
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It's hot tonight and half the neighborhood is drunk. the other half is dead. if I have any advice about writing poetry it's - don't. I'm going to send out for some fried chicken.
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In New York you've got to have all the luck.
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I have gotten so used to melancholia that I greet it like an old friend.
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I see men assassinated around me every day. I walk through rooms of the dead, streets of the dead, cities of the dead men without eyes, men without voices men with manufactured feelings and standard reactions men with newspaper brains, television souls and high school ideas.
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Love is a form of prejudice. You love what you need, you love what makes you feel good, you love what is convenient. How can you say you love one person when there are ten thousand people in the world that you would love more if you ever met them? But you'll never meet them.
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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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If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start.
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All a guy needed was a chance. Somebody was alway controlling who got a chance and who didn't.
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I went over to see Marina two or three or four times a week. I knew as long as I could see the girl I would be all right…. Soon after, I got a letter from Fay. She and the child were living in a hippie commune in New Mexico. It was a nice place, she said. Marina would be able to breathe there. She enclosed a little drawing the girl had made for me.
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