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They laughed. Things were funny. They weren't afraid to care. There was no sense to life, to the structure of things.
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
Life
Laughed
Weren
Structure
Afraid
Funny
Sense
Care
More quotes by 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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The Difference Between Art and Life is that Art is More Bearable
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It’s so easy to be easy—if you let it.
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There's nothing unusual about love.
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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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Your parents don't give you much love, do they?' 'I don't need that stuff,' I told her. 'Henry, everybody needs love.' 'I don't need anything.' 'You poor boy.
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A man needed somebody. There wasn't anybody around, so you had to make up somebody, make him up to be like a man should be. It wasn't make-believe or cheating. The other way was make-believe and cheating: living your life without a man like him around.
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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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You are thirty minutes late. Yes. Would you be thirty minutes late to a wedding or a funeral? No. Why not, pray tell? Well, if the funeral was mine I'd have to be on time. If the wedding was mine it would be my funeral.
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Maybe when I get in the grave, things will be beautiful.
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There's a light somewhere. It may not be much light but it beats the darkness.
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All a guy needed was a chance. Somebody was alway controlling who got a chance and who didn't.
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My heart is a thousand years old. I am not like other people.
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The night kept coming on in and there was nothing I could do.
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There's nothing else as pleasant as being unpleasant when there's nothing else to do, and there's usually nothing else to do.
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too often, the only escape is sleep
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My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover. ~ Falsely yours
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I am aware that a computer can’t create a poem, but neither can a typewriter.
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nothing can save you except writing. it keeps the walls from failing.
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I wasn’t lonely. I experienced no self-pity. I was just caught up in a life in which I could find no meaning.
Charles Bukowski
