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Where some god pissed a rain of reason to make things grow only to die.

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
Rain
Grow
Grows
Dies
Reason
Make
Things
Pissed

More quotes by Charles Bukowski

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I wasn't a misanthrope and I wasn't a misogynist but I liked being alone. It felt good to sit alone in a small space and smoke and drink. I had always been good company for myself.
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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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If you let them kill you, they will
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God knows I am not too hippy. Perhaps because I am too much around the hip and I fear fads for, like anybody else, I like something that tends to last.
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You can steal my women but don't play with my whiskey.
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I was a man who thrived on solitude without it I was like another man without food or water. Each day without solitude weakened me. I took no pride in my solitude but I was dependent on it. The darkness of the room was like sunlight to me.
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Do some living and get yourself a typewriter.
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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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People with no morals often considered themselves more free, but mostly they lacked the ability to feel or love.
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it's good to have things done with when they don't work it's also good not to hate or even forget the person you've failed with.
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Daddy,' my mother asked, 'aren’t we going to run out of gas?' No there’s plenty of god-damned gas.' Where are we going?' I’m going to get some god-damed oranges!
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it is all ash and dry leaves and grief gone like an ocean liner.
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It's possible to love a human being if you don't know them too well.
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I drive around the streets an inch away from weeping, ashamed of my sentimentality and possible love.
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Love is a Dog from Hell.
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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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well, i don't know about you but I'm going to try everything! War, women, travel, marriage, children, the works. [...]. I want to know about things, what makes them work!
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He asked, What makes a man a writer? Well, I said, it's simple. You either get it down on paper, or jump off a bridge.
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The ladies usually go for the biggest damn fool they can find that is why the human race stands where it does today: we have bred the clever and lasting Casanovas, all hollow inside, like the chocolate Easter bunnies we foster upon our poor children.
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But then if you lied to a man about his talent just because he was sitting across from you, that was the most unforgivable lie of them all, because that was telling him to go on, to continue which was the worst way for a man without real talent to waste his life, finally. But many people did just that, friends and relatives mostly.
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