About Charles Bukowski: Henry Charles Bukowski was a German-born American poet, novelist, and short story writer.
the world is better without them. only the plants and the animals are true comrades. I drink to them and with them.
having nothing to struggle against they have nothing to struggle for.
as the shadows assume shapes I fight the slow retreat now my once-promise dwindling dwindling now lighting new cigarettes pouring more drinks it has been a beautiful fight still is.
there’s nothing to discuss there’s nothing to remember there’s nothing to forget it’s sad and it’s not sad seems the most sensible thing a person can do is sit with drink in hand as the walls wave their goodbye smiles one comes through it a...
the gods seldom give but so quickly take.
she wasn't very interesting but few people are.
the courage it took to get out of bed each morning to face the same things over and over was enormous.
I paid, got up, walked to the door, opened it. I heard the man say, "that guy's nuts." out on the street I walked north feeling curiously honored.
the price of creation is never too high. the price of living with other people always is.
it is so dark now with the sadness of people they were tricked, they were taught to expect the ultimate when nothing is promised now young girls weep alone in small rooms old men angrily swing their canes at visions as ladies comb their hair as ants ...
I see a bright portion under the overhead light that shades into darkness and then into darker darkness and I can't see beyond that.
the worst thing," he told me, "is bitterness, people end up so bitter.
girls please give your bodies and your lives to the young men who deserve them besides there is no way I would welcome the intolerable dull senseless hell you would bring me and I wish you luck in bed and out but not in mine thank you.
when we were kids laying around the lawn on our bellies we often talked about how we'd like to die and we all agreed on the same thing; we'd all like to die fucking (although none of us had done any fucking) and now that we are hardly kids any longer...
the gods play no favorites.
sometimes when everything seems at its worst when all conspires and gnaws and the hours, days, weeks years seem wasted – stretched there upon my bed in the dark looking upward at the ceiling i get what many will consider an obnoxious thought: it’...
Now something so sad has hold of us that the breath leaves and we can't even cry.
when I drive the freeways I see the soul of humanity of my city and it's ugly, ugly, ugly: the living have choked the heart away.
I feel no grief for being called something which I am not; in fact, it's enthralling, somehow, like a good back rub
we are burning like a chicken wing left on the grill of an outdoor barbecue we are unwanted and burning we are burning and unwanted we are an unwanted burning as we sizzle and fry to the bone the coals of Dante's 'Inferno' spit and sputter beneath us...
now look, she said, stretched out on the bed, I don’t want anything personal, let’s just do it, I don’t want to get involved, got it? she kicked off her high-heeled shoes… sure, he said, standing there, let’s just pretend that we’ve alrea...
