About Charles Bukowski: Henry Charles Bukowski was a German-born American poet, novelist, and short story writer.
We don’t even ask happiness, just a little less pain.
I have one problem, I don’t hate people. They disgust me and I want to get away from them. I do not have hatred. I have an escape mechanism.
there is enough treachery , hatred violence absurdity in the average human being to supply any given army on any given day
the impossibility of being human all too human this breathing in and out out and in these punks these cowards these champions these mad dogs of glory moving this little bit of light toward us impossibly.
If I bet on humanity, I'd never cash a ticket.
Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead.
Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.
To me, nudity is a joke. I don't think nude people are very attractive at all. I like my women fully clothed. I like to imagine what might be under there. It might not be the standard thing. Imagine, stripping a woman down, and she has a body like a ...
Yes Yes when God created love he didn't help most when God created dogs He didn't help dogs when God created plants that was average when God created hate we had a standard utility when God created me He created me when God created the monkey He was ...
Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you've felt that way.
I don't hate people. I just feel better when they aren't around.
Sex is kicking death in the ass while singing.
Belane, are you nuts?" Who knows? Insanity is comparative. Who sets the norm?
Mëso të mos e shkatërrosh me fjalë atë çfarë ke ndërtuar me heshtje.
be it peace or happiness let it enfold you
The nights you fight best are when all the weapons are pointed at you, when all the voices hurl their insults while the dream is being strangled. The nights you fight best are when reason gets kicked in the gut, when the chariots of gloom encircle yo...
When I begin to doubt my ability to work the word, I simply read another writer and know I have nothing to worry about. My contest is only with myself, to do it right, with power, and force, and delight, and gamble.
You gotta find what you like and let it kill you.
That’s when I first learned that it wasn’t enough to just do your job, you had to have an interest in it, even a passion for it.
that your power of command with simple language was one of the magnificent things of our century. (from the poem: result)
People are strange: They are constantly angered by trivial things, but on a major matter like totally wasting their lives, they hardly seem to notice.
