Quote

Her one drink had Cecelia giggling and talking and she was explaining that animals had souls too. Nobody challenged her opinion. It was possible, we knew. What we weren't sure of was if we had any.

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
Talking
Animals
Soul
Drink
Nobody
Knew
Giggling
Animal
Challenged
Opinion
Explaining
Possible
Weren
Sure
Souls

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If I never see you again I will always carry you inside outside on my fingertips and at brain edges and in centers centers of what I am of what remains.
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Finally there is nothing here for death to take away.
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if it doesn't come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don't do it. unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don't do it.
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Those who preach god, need god Those who preach peace do not have peace Those who preach love do not have love
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It’s when you hide things that you choke on them.
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your letters got sadder. your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray. it didn't help. you said you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and the bridge was over the river and you sat on the crying bench every night and wept for the lovers who had hurt and forgotten you.
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there is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock
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I wish to weep but sorrow is stupid. I wish to believe but belief is a graveyard.
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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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as the shadows assume shapes I fight the slow retreat now my once-promise dwindling dwindling now lighting new cigarettes pouring more drinks it has been a beautiful fight still is.
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So, that’s what they wanted: lies. Beautiful lies. That’s what they needed. People were fools. It was going to be easy for me.
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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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It's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse... no, it's the continuing series of small tragedies... not the death of his love but the shoelace that snaps with no time left.
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the writing of some men is like a vast bridge that carries you over the many things that claw and tear. The Wine of Forever
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Each person is only given so many evenings and each wasted evening is a gross violation against the natural course of your only life.
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Never get out of bed before noon.
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I write right off the typer. I call it my machinegun. I hit it hard, usually late at night while drinking wine and listening to classical music on the radio and smoking mangalore ganesh beedies.
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We are here to laugh at the odds.
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and love is a word used too much and much too soon.
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I went over to see Marina two or three or four times a week. I knew as long as I could see the girl I would be all right…. Soon after, I got a letter from Fay. She and the child were living in a hippie commune in New Mexico. It was a nice place, she said. Marina would be able to breathe there. She enclosed a little drawing the girl had made for me.
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