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I tell you such fine music waits in the shadows of hell.

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
Shadows
Shadow
Fine
Hell
Waiting
Tell
Music
Waits

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You just rebel against everything. How are you going to survive? I don't know. I'm already tired.
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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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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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Too often the people complain that they have done nothing with their lives and then they wait for somebody to tell them that this isn't so.
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I still have a little whiskey left and therefore a chance.
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if you get married they think you're finished and if you are without a woman they think you're incomplete.
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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.
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People with no morals often considered themselves more free, but mostly they lacked the ability to feel or love.
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being alone never felt right. sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right.
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More often than not Democratic Law works to the advantage of the few even though the many have voted this, of course, is because the few have told them how to vote.
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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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There still might be a place for us somewhere.
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Gradually I came to realize that my understanding of women goes only as far as the pleasure is concerned.
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Pretty words, as pretty women, wrinkle up and die.
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Belane, are you nuts? Who knows? Insanity is comparative. Who sets the norm?
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and the color in my eyes has gone back into the sea.
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I have gotten so used to melancholia that I greet it like an old friend.
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If you want to know who your friends are, get yourself a jail sentence.
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and love is a word used too much and much too soon.
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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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