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Love is a Dog from Hell.
Charles Bukowski
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Charles Bukowski
Age: 73 †
Born: 1920
Born: August 16
Died: 1994
Died: March 9
Actor
Author
Autobiographer
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Diarist
Journalist
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Poet
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Writer
Henry Charles Bukowski
Buk
charles bukowski
Dog
Hell
Love
More quotes by Charles Bukowski
I don't think I'll travel anymore. Travel is nothing but an inconvenience. There is always enough trouble where you are.
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How are his poems? He's not as good as he thinks he is, but then most of us feel that way.
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Those who escape hell however never talk about it and nothing much bothers them after that
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Never envy a man his lady. Behind it all lays a living hell.
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Where did all the women come from? The supply was endless. Each one of them was individual, different. Their pussies were different, their kisses were different, their breasts were different, but no man could drink them all, there were too many of them, crossing their legs, driving men mad. What a feast!
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I walk into the kitchen, look at the typer down there on the floor. It's a dirty floor. It's a dirty typer that types dirty stories
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I'm only interested in poetry.
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The apartment was built at the edge of a high cliff so that when you looked out the back window it seemed as if you were twelve floors up instead of four. It was very much like living on the edge of the world - a last resting place before the final big drop.
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Most people are much better at saying things in letters than in conversation, and some people can write artistic, inventive letters, but when they try a poem or story or novel they become pretentious.
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The Difference Between Art and Life is that Art is More Bearable
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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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I walked around the block twice, passed 200 people and failed to see a human being.
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The secret is writing down one simple line after another.
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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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Sexual intercourse is kicking death in the ass while singing.
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My flesh looked like it wasn't trying. It looked like it hated being part of me.
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My heart is a thousand years old. I am not like other people.
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It is possible to be truly mad and to still exist upon scraps of life.
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stay with the beer. beer is continuous blood. a continuous lover.
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I'm too careless. I don't put out enough effort. I'm tired.
Charles Bukowski