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my mother, poor fish, wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a week, telling me to be happy: Henry, smile! why don't you ever smile? and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the saddest smile I ever saw

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
Would
Happy
Fish
Show
Fishes
Times
Wanting
Mother
Smile
Shows
Telling
Three
Saws
Saddest
Two
Week
Henry
Ever
Poor
Beaten

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Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.
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t was almost disappointing because it seemed when stress and madness were eliminated from my daily life there wasn't much left you could depend on.
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why don't we go back out there and tell them what happened? because nothing happened except that everybody has been driven insane and stupid by life. in this society there are only two things that count: don't be caught without money and don't get caught high on any kind of high. (Night Streets of Madness)
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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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this time has finished me.
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It’s not so much that nothing means anything but more that it keeps meaning nothing. there’s no release, just gurus and self- appointed gods and hucksters. the more people say, the less there is to say. even the best books are dry sawdust.
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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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we had such tremendous fun and much agony together for some years
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Drink from the well of yourself and begin again.
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Our disappointment sits between us.
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I could read the great books but the great books don't interest me.
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It’s so easy to be easy—if you let it.
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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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one can never be sure whether it's good poetry or bad acid
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What were you going to do tonight? I was going to listen to the songs of Rachmaninoff. Who's that? A dead Russian.
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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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The trouble with these people is that their cities have never been bombed and their mothers have never been told to shut up.
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People just weren't interesting. Maybe they weren't supposed to be. But animals, birds, even insects were. I couldn't understand it.
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Lighting new cigarettes, pouring more drinks. It has been a beautiful fight. Still is.
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The whole LSD, STP, marijuana, heroin, hashish, prescription cough medicine crowd suffers from the Watchtower itch: you gotta be with us, man, or you're out, you're dead. This pitch is a continual and seeming MUST with those who use the stuff. It's no wonder they keep getting busted.
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