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I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how ugly a person could get.
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
Persons
Mirror
Person
Mirrors
Ugly
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Wonder
Alone
Wondering
Often
Stood
More quotes by Charles Bukowski
If you can only remain pure in your stupidity, someday you may get a phone call from hell.
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There's nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the growing of a flower. What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don't live up until their death.
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Trouble and pain were what kept a man alive. Or trying to avoid trouble and pain. It was a full time job.
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we know God is dead, they've told us, but listening to you I wasn't sure.
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Drink from the well of yourself and begin again.
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why don't we go back out there and tell them what happened? because nothing happened except that everybody has been driven insane and stupid by life. in this society there are only two things that count: don't be caught without money and don't get caught high on any kind of high. (Night Streets of Madness)
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If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose.
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and love is a word used too much and much too soon.
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Don't ever write a novel unless it hurts like a hot turd coming out.
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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.
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I had no Freedom. I had nothing.
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as the spirit wanes the form appears
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I was fairly poor but most of my money went for wine and classical music. I loved to mix the two together.
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There is only one place to write and that is alone at a typewriter. The writer who has to go into the streets is a writer who does not know the streets. . . when you leave your typewriter you leave your machine gun and the rats come pouring through.
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hate contains truth. beauty is a facade.
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An early taste of death is not necessarily a bad thing.
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dogs and angels are not very far apart
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I see men assassinated around me every day. I walk through rooms of the dead, streets of the dead, cities of the dead men without eyes, men without voices men with manufactured feelings and standard reactions men with newspaper brains, television souls and high school ideas.
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There still might be a place for us somewhere.
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your letters got sadder. your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray. it didn't help. you said you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and the bridge was over the river and you sat on the crying bench every night and wept for the lovers who had hurt and forgotten you.
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