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They were beautiful nothings

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
Nothings
Beautiful

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That's the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen.
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Those who escape hell however never talk about it and nothing much bothers them after that
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Meanwhile the 3 a.m. drunks of the world would lay in their beds, trying in vain to sleep, and deserving that rest, if they could find it.
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The night kept coming on in and there was nothing I could do.
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...in that drunken place you would like to hand your heart to her and say touch it but then give it back.
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I knew it would be you
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and then there are some who believe that old relationships can be revived and made new again. but please if you feel that way don't phone don't write don't arrive
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Never bring a lot of money to where a poor man lives. He can only lose what little he has. On the other hand it is mathematically possible that he might win whatever you bring with you. What you must do, with money and the poor, is never let them get too close to one another.
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The hangover was brutal but he didn't mind. It told him he had been somewhere else, someplace good.
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You just rebel against everything. How are you going to survive? I don't know. I'm already tired.
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… and we are in bed together laughing and we don’t care about anything.
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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 was hard for me to believe. When recess was over I sat in class and thought about it. My mother had a hole and my father had a dong that shot juice. How could they have things like that and walk around as if everything was normal, and talk about things, and then do it and not tell anybody?
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I just want a hot cup of coffee,black,and I don’t want to hear about your troubles.
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great writers are indecent people they live unfairly saving the best part for paper. good human beings save the world so that bastards like me can keep creating art, become immortal. if you read this after I am dead it means I made it.
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I sit here drunk now. I am a series of small victories and large defeats and I am as amazed as any other that I have gotten from there to here without committing murder or being murdered without having ended up in the madhouse. as I drink alone again tonight my soul despite all the past agony thanks all the gods who were not there for me then.
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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.
Charles Bukowski
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this time has finished me.
Charles Bukowski
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the whole world is caught in her glance and at last the universe is magnificent.
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I felt I had to win. It seemed very important. I didn't know why it was important and I kept thinking, why do I think this is so important? And another part of me answered, just because it is.
Charles Bukowski