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I am for the small man who has not forgotten, for the man who loves his beer and his women and his sunlight

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
Women
Men
Sunlight
Beer
Loves
Forgotten
Small

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my hands dead my heart dead silence adagio of rocks the world ablaze that's the best for me.
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As we go on with our lives we tend to forget that the jails and the hospitals and the madhouses and the graveyards are packed.
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and even the trees we walked under seemed less than trees and more like everything else.
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Style means no shield at all. Style means no front at all. Style means ultimate naturalness. Style means one man alone with billions of men about.
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If I hadn't been a drunkard, I probably would have committed suicide long ago.
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We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus!
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I was a man who thrived on solitude without it I was like another man without food or water. Each day without solitude weakened me. I took no pride in my solitude but I was dependent on it. The darkness of the room was like sunlight to me.
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Genius might be the ability to say a profound thing in a simple way.
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I was in love again. I was in trouble
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Banion wondered which was worse - being sodomized by aliens, or having to sit through two hours of Charles Ives.
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I wanted the whole world or nothing.
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Dying in a a war never stopped wars from happening.
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The public takes from a writer, or a writing, what it needs and lets the remainder go. but what they take is usually what they need least and what they let go is what they need most.
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The free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it
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nobody can save you but yourself. you will be put again and again into nearly impossible situations. they will attempt again and again through subterfuge, guise and force to make you submit, quit and/or die quietly inside. nobody can save you but yourself
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If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start.
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Alcohol is probably one of the greatest things to arrive upon the earth - alongside of me.
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they simply never understand, do they, that sometimes solitude is one of the most beautiful things on earth?
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The night kept coming on in and there was nothing I could do.
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That's the way it ends. The thin edge of the wedge.
Charles Bukowski