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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
Stills
Drinks
Still
Pouring
Lighting
Cigarette
Drink
Fight
Fighting
Beautiful
Cigarettes
More quotes by Charles Bukowski
Are you becoming what you've always hated?
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The writer has no responsibility other than to jack off in bed alone and write a good page.
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there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average human being to supply any given army on any given day and the best at murder are those who preach against it and the best at hate are those who preach love and the best at war finally are those who preach peace
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Beware of those who seek constant crowds they are nothing alone.
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I often carry things to read so that I will not have to look at the people.
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I stopped looking for a Dream Girl, I just wanted one that wasn't a nightmare.
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Do some living and get yourself a typewriter.
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The free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it
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... to die on a kitchen floor at 7 o'clock in the morning while other people are frying eggs is not so rough unless it happens to you.
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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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what matters most is how well you walk through the fire
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I think that the world should be full of cats and full of rain, that's all, just cats and rain, rain and cats, very nice, good night.
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There is nothing as boring as the truth.
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unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't do it
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Sometimes I feel as if we are all trapped in a movie. We know our lines, where to walk, how to act, only there is no camera. Yet, we can't break out of the movie. And it's a bad one.
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and love is a word used too much and much too soon.
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morning night and noon the traffic moves through and the murder and treachery of friends and lovers and all the people move through you. pain is the joy of knowing the unkindest truth that arrives without warning. life is being alone death is being alone. even the fools weep morning night and noon.
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The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little bit more off you, until there was nothing left.
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WHEN YOU LEAVE YOUR TYPEWRITER YOU LEAVE YOUR MACHINE GUN AND THE RATS COME POURING THROUGH.
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I'm very clever at hiding poems perhaps more clever than I am at writing them.
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