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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.

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
Needed
Lying
Easy
Beautiful
Wanted
Going
Fools
People
Lies
Fool

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Cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. The less I needed the better I felt.
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when I was a boy I used to dream of becoming the village idiot. I used to lie in bed and imagine myself the happy idiot able to get food easily ...and easy sympathy, a planned confusion of not too much love or effort. some would claim that I have succeeded.
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The night kept coming on in and there was nothing I could do.
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It was too much. The comfortable people made comfortable jokes about weather and things but I sat mostly silent saying a word or so when necessary a word or so trying to hide from them the fact that I was a fool and feeling terrible And I was numb, numb again, numb again again and again, numbness and pain swelling in me.
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I have loved you woman as surely as I have named you rust and sand and nylon.
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You are thirty minutes late. Yes. Would you be thirty minutes late to a wedding or a funeral? No. Why not, pray tell? Well, if the funeral was mine I'd have to be on time. If the wedding was mine it would be my funeral.
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I don't carry notebooks and I don't consciously store ideas. I try not to think that I am a writer and I am pretty good at doing that. I don't like writers, but then I don't like insurance salesmen either.
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People do too much. They say too much.
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Don’t do it. Don’t love me.
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People don't need love. What they need is success in one form or another. It can be love but it needn't be.
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I tell you such fine music waits in the shadows of hell.
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It’s not so much that nothing means anything but more that it keeps meaning nothing. there’s no release, just gurus and self- appointed gods and hucksters. the more people say, the less there is to say. even the best books are dry sawdust.
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