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It was a joy! Words weren't dull, words were things that could make your mind hum. If you read them and let yourself feel the magic, you could live without pain, with hope, no matter what happened to you.
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
Things
Live
Magic
Book
Joy
Without
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Matter
Reading
Feel
Read
Feels
Hope
Mind
Words
Weren
Make
Pain
Dull
More quotes by Charles Bukowski
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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The streets were full of insane & dull people. Most of them lived in nice houses and didn't seem to work, and you wondered how they did it.
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and I laugh, I can still laugh, who can't laugh when the whole thing is so ridiculous that only the insane, the clowns, the half-wits, the cheaters, the whores, the horseplayers, the bankrobbers, the poets ... are interesting?
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It seems I make a lot of mistakes and it seems that I am not allowed any.
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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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Sometimes there's luck, When there is you stock up on it and wait for the other times
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Don't ever write a novel unless it hurts like a hot turd coming out.
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I am too sick to lay down the sidewalks frighten me the whole damned city frightens me, what I will become what I have become frightens me.
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The Artist, an ancient sage had once said, is always sitting on the doorsteps of the rich.
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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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the tired sunsets and the tired people - it takes a lifetime to die and no time at all.
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Four days alone with nothing. Emerge empowered. The first human face you see will knock you back 50%.
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Each man's hell is in a different place: mine is just up and behind my ruined face.
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If there are junk yards in hell, love is the dog that guards the gates.
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Let it die. Let there be a new beginning. It’s awful. Goodnight.
Charles Bukowski
When a writer is swayed with his fame and his fortune, you can float him down the river with the turds.
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People do too much. They say too much.
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There still might be a place for us somewhere.
Charles Bukowski
too often, the only escape is sleep
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The years have gone by quickly. Death sits in the seat next to me. We make a lovely couple.
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