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My flesh looked like it wasn't trying. It looked like it hated being part of 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
Wasn
Part
Trying
Like
Hated
Flesh
Looked
More quotes by Charles Bukowski
I can't blame her. but wonder why she's here with me? where are the other guys? how can you be lucky? having someone the others have abandoned?
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too often, the only escape is sleep
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mercy, I think, doesn't the human race know anything about mercy?
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If you're going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It's the only good fight there is.
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The public takes from a writer, or a writing, what it needs and lets the remainder go. but what they take is usually what they need least and what they let go is what they need most.
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there is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock
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I often carry things to read so that I will not have to look at the people.
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They, all of them, seemed to put literary form in front of the actuality and living of life itself.
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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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Genius might be the ability to say a profound thing in a simple way.
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Most of the world was mad. And the part that wasn't mad was angry. And the part that wasn't mad or angry was just stupid. I had no chance. I had no choice. Just hang on and wait for the end. It was hard work. It was the hardest work imaginable.
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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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Your writing, she said to me, it's so raw. It's like a sledgehammer, and yet it has humor and tenderness. . . .
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there is enough treachery , hatred violence absurdity in the average human being to supply any given army on any given day
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The writer has no responsibility other than to jack off in bed alone and write a good page.
Charles Bukowski
There is no hurry. Time means nothing to you.
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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.
Charles Bukowski
I am a poem. There is no way out.
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Long before I became 'rich and famous' I just sat round drinking wine and staring at the walls.
Charles Bukowski
You don't go on probably when love and guns are in hand.
Charles Bukowski
