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It's just that the grape has me down.
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
Grape
Grapes
More quotes by Charles Bukowski
Even the stove and the refrigerator looked human, I mean good human - they seemed to have arms and voices and they said, hang around, kid, it's good here, it can be very good here.
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great writers are indecent people they live unfairly saving the best part for paper. good human beings save the world so that bastards like me can keep creating art, become immortal. if you read this after I am dead it means I made it.
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There's a light somewhere. It may not be much light but it beats the darkness.
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a good book can make an almost impossible existence, liveable ( from 'the luck of the word' )
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this time has finished me.
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I'm very clever at hiding poems perhaps more clever than I am at writing them.
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They looked as if nothing had ever touched them--all well-mothered, protected, with a soft sheen of contentment. None of them had ever been in jail, or worked hard with their hands, or even gotten a traffic ticket. Skimmed-milk jollies, the whole bunch.
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The ladies usually go for the biggest damn fool they can find that is why the human race stands where it does today: we have bred the clever and lasting Casanovas, all hollow inside, like the chocolate Easter bunnies we foster upon our poor children.
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I had no feeling for the things so many others needed.
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the grace is being able to like rock music, symphony music, jazz … anything that contains the original energy of joy.
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we sat there smoking cigarettes at 5 in the morning.
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It's 4:30 in the morning, it's always 4:30 in the morning.
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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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the whole world is caught in her glance and at last the universe is magnificent.
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Where did all the women come from? The supply was endless. Each one of them was individual, different. Their pussies were different, their kisses were different, their breasts were different, but no man could drink them all, there were too many of them, crossing their legs, driving men mad. What a feast!
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Belane, are you nuts? Who knows? Insanity is comparative. Who sets the norm?
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my hands dead my heart dead silence adagio of rocks the world ablaze that's the best for me.
Charles Bukowski
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.
Charles Bukowski
He asked, What makes a man a writer? Well, I said, it's simple. You either get it down on paper, or jump off a bridge.
Charles Bukowski
Pretty words, as pretty women, wrinkle up and die.
Charles Bukowski