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The Artist, an ancient sage had once said, is always sitting on the doorsteps of the rich.
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
Doorstep
Sage
Ancient
Sitting
Rich
Artist
Always
More quotes by Charles Bukowski
I drive around the streets an inch away from weeping, ashamed of my sentimentality and possible love.
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she was consumed by 3 simple things: drink, despair, loneliness and 2 more: youth and beauty
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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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You can steal my women but don't play with my whiskey.
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I never write in the daytime. It's like running through the shopping mall with your clothes off. Everybody can see you. At night ... that's when you pull the tricks ... magic.
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we only asked for leopards to guard our thinning dreams.
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we drove on and on, past little villages and both good things and bad things were happening to the people in those villages too, but I still was nothing but arms and ears and eyes and maybe there'd be either some good luck for me or more death tomorrow.
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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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And there I was, 225 pounds, perpetually lost and confused, short legs, ape-like upper body, all chest, no neck, head too large, blurred eyes, hair uncombed, 6 feet of geek, waiting for her.
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Something that never happens anywhere at any time.
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I've found out why men sign their names to their works- not that they created them but more than the others did not.
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I was laying in bed one night and I thought 'I'll just quit - to hell with it.' And another little voice inside me said 'Don't quit - save that tiny little ember of spark.' And never give them that spark because as long as you have that spark, you can start the greatest fire again.
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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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We are all museums of fear.
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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.
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Do some living and get yourself a typewriter.
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It's 4:30 in the morning, it's always 4:30 in the morning.
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and love is a word used too much and much too soon.
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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?
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I have gotten so used to melancholia that I greet it like an old friend.
Charles Bukowski
