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The night kept coming on in and there was nothing I could do.

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
Nothing
Kept
Coming
Night

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If you let them kill you, they will
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It was like any other relationship, there was jealousy on both sides, there were split-ups and reconciliations. There were also fragmented moments of great peace and beauty. I often tried to get away from her and she tried to get away from me but it was difficult: Cupid, in his strange way, was really there.
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The worst men have the best jobs the best men have the worst jobs or are unemployed or locked in madhouses.
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It's possible to love a human being if you don't know them too well.
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I have two rules. One is, never trust a man who smokes a pipe. The other is, never trust a man with shiny shoes.
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A day of minor profit or prophet led to a night of drunkenness.
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I don't like jail, they got the wrong kind of bars in there.
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be it peace or happiness let it enfold you
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The difference between a democracy and a dictatorship is that in a democracy you vote first and take orders later in a dictatorship you don't have to waste your time voting.
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You can steal my women but don't play with my whiskey.
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Goodness can be found sometimes in the middle of hell.
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and even the trees we walked under seemed less than trees and more like everything else.
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Basically, that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.
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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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Love is a Dog from Hell.
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Style means no shield at all. Style means no front at all. Style means ultimate naturalness. Style means one man alone with billions of men about.
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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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Never trust a man in a jumpsuit
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in the cupboard sits my bottle like a dwarf waiting to scratch out my prayers. I drink and cough like some idiot at a symphony, sunlight and maddened birds are everywhere, the phone rings gamboling its sound against the odds of the crooked sea I drink deeply and evenly now, I drink to paradise and death and the lie of love.
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I don't know about other people, but when I wake up in the morning and put my shoes on, I think, Jesus Christ, now what?
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