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We waste days like mad blackbirds and pray for alcoholic nightsour silk-sick human smiles wrap around us like somebody else's confetti

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
Days
Smiles
Else
Mad
Confetti
Around
Pray
Blackbirds
Human
Praying
Alcoholic
Humans
Bird
Wrap
Like
Waste
Alcoholics
Sick
Wraps
Somebody
Silk

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The Difference Between Art and Life is that Art is More Bearable
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one can never be sure whether it's good poetry or bad acid
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Some men hope for revolution but when you revolt and set up your new government you find your new government is still the same old Papa, he has only put on a cardboard mask.
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i was born to hustle roses down the avenue of the dead.
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Potential, I said, doesn't mean a thing. You've got to do it. Almost every baby in a crib has more potential than I have.
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Bad poetry is caused by people who sit down and think, Now I am going to write a Poem.
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There's a small balcony here, the door is open and I can see the lights of the cars on the Harbor Freeway south, they never stop, that roll of lights, on and on. All those people. What are they doing? What are they thinking? We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't.
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Knowledge is knowing as little as possible.
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bad writing's like bad women: there's just not much you can do about it
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Baby, I said. I'm a genius but nobody knows it but me.
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When a writer is swayed with his fame and his fortune, you can float him down the river with the turds.
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You can steal my women but don't play with my whiskey.
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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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It was like a church in there as only the truly lost sit in bars on Tuesday mornings at 8:00 a.m.
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Something that never happens anywhere at any time.
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If I stop writing I am dead. And that's the only way I'll stop: dead.
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Complaint is often the result of an insufficient ability to live within the obvious restrictions of this god damned cage.
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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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if you think they didn't go crazy in tiny rooms just like you're doing now without women without food without hope then you're not ready.
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Most people's deaths are a sham. There's nothing left to die.
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