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Lighting new cigarettes, pouring more drinks. It has been a beautiful fight. Still is.

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
Drink
Fight
Fighting
Beautiful
Cigarettes
Stills
Drinks
Still
Pouring
Lighting
Cigarette

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take a writer away from his typewriter and all you have left is the sickness which started him typing in the beginning
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They never pay the slaves enough so they can get free, just enough so they can stay alive and come back to work.
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Homosexuals are delicate and bad poetry is delicate and [Allen] Ginsberg turned the tables by making homosexual poetry strong poetry, almost manly poetry but in the long run, the homo will remain the homo and not the poet.
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all that I know is that I believe in the sound of music and the running of a horse. all else is squabble.
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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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don't be ashamed of anything I guess God meant it all like locks on doors.
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i dunno, i said, but i have an idea that people who don't think too much tend to look younger longer
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In a more universal sense, we only get one thing. You know...a head stone if we're lucky if not, green grass.
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And there I was, 225 pounds, perpetually lost and confused, short legs, ape-like upper body, all chest, no neck, head too large, blurred eyes, hair uncombed, 6 feet of geek, waiting for her.
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There's a small balcony here, the door is open and I can see the lights of the cars on the Harbor Freeway south, they never stop, that roll of lights, on and on. All those people. What are they doing? What are they thinking? We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't.
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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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and love is a word used too much and much too soon.
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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 breaks my bones and I laugh
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there are worse things than being alone but it often takes decades to realize this and most often when you do it's too late and there's nothing worse than too late
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Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you've felt that way.
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Courts are places where the ending is written first and all that precedes is simply vaudeville.
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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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I am a dolt of a man, easily made happy or even stupidly happy almost without cause and left alone I am mostly content.
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