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We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus!

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
Triviality
Circus
Dies
Going

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I tell you such fine music waits in the shadows of hell.
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Some people like what you do, some people hate what you do, but most people simply don't give a damn.
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I can almost understand why people leap from bridges.
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I'll use the knives for spreading jam, and the gas to warm my greying love.
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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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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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Human relationships are strange. I mean, you are with one person a while, eating and sleeping and living with them, loving them, talking to them, going places together, and then it stops.
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nobody ever finds the one
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I didn't have any friends at school, didn't want any. I felt better being alone. I sat on a bench and watched the others play and they looked foolish to me.
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Look, let me put it this way: with me, you’re number one and there isn’t even a number two.
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there are policemen in the street and angels in the clouds
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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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I'm too careless. I don't put out enough effort. I'm tired.
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In a more universal sense, we only get one thing. You know...a head stone if we're lucky if not, green grass.
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A day of minor profit or prophet led to a night of drunkenness.
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Love breaks my bones and I laugh
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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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Baby, I said. I'm a genius but nobody knows it but me.
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we only asked for leopards to guard our thinning dreams.
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Homosexuals are delicate and bad poetry is delicate and [Allen] Ginsberg turned the tables by making homosexual poetry strong poetry, almost manly poetry but in the long run, the homo will remain the homo and not the poet.
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