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I just want a hot cup of coffee,black,and I don’t want to hear about your troubles.

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
Black
Troubles
Cups
Hot
Coffee
Trouble
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More quotes by Charles Bukowski

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It was a joy! Words weren't dull, words were things that could make your mind hum. If you read them and let yourself feel the magic, you could live without pain, with hope, no matter what happened to you.
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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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sometimes I hate you, she said.
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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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I knew I was strong, and maybe like they said, crazy. But I had this feeling inside of me that something real was there.
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In a capitalistic society the losers slaved for the winners and you have to have more losers than winners.
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and getting dressed we talk about what else there might be to do, but being together solves most of it, in fact, solves all of it
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Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.
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the beautiful are found in the edge of a room crumpled into spiders and needles and silence and we can never understand why they left,they were so beautiful. they dont make it, the beautiful die young and leave the ugly to their ugly lives.
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The pest, in a sense, is a very superior being to us: he knows where to find us and how--usually in the bath or in sexual intercourse or asleep.
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The Artist, an ancient sage had once said, is always sitting on the doorsteps of the rich.
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well, death says, as he walks by, I'm going to get you anyhow no matter what you've been: writer, cab-driver, pimp, butcher, sky-diver, I'm going to get you
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American women drove hard bargains and the ended up looking the worst for it. The few natural American women left were mostly in Texas and Louisiana.
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I had no feeling for the things so many others needed.
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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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A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.
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Where did all the women come from? The supply was endless. Each one of them was individual, different. Their pussies were different, their kisses were different, their breasts were different, but no man could drink them all, there were too many of them, crossing their legs, driving men mad. What a feast!
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What good are you? What can you do? It has cost me a thousands of dollars to raise you, feed you, clothe you! Suppose I left you here on the street? Then what would you do? Catch butterflies
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nobody ever finds the one
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and I laugh, I can still laugh, who can't laugh when the whole thing is so ridiculous that only the insane, the clowns, the half-wits, the cheaters, the whores, the horseplayers, the bankrobbers, the poets ... are interesting?
Charles Bukowski