About Charles Bukowski: Henry Charles Bukowski was a German-born American poet, novelist, and short story writer.
Ne të gjithë jemi duke shkuar për të vdekur, të gjithë ne, çfarë cirku! Kjo vetë duhet të na bëjë ta duam njëri-tjetrin, por kjo nuk e bën. Ne jemi të terrorizuar dhe të rrafshuar nga trivialiteti, ne jemi duke u ngrënë nga asgjëja...
the pleasures of the damned are limited to brief moments of happiness: like eyes in the look of a dog, like a square of wax, like a fire taking city hall, the county, the continent, like fire taking the hair of maidens and monsters; and hawks buzzing...
Basically, that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.
there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too clever, I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody's asleep. I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad. then I put him back, but he's singing a little in there, I haven...
The secret is writing down one simple line after another.
If you have the ability to love, love yourself first.
Walking out with the people, I didn't know which was more exciting, the air race, the parachute jump that failed, or the cunt.
I heard an airplane passing overhead. I wished I was on it.
I do think that poetry is important though, if you don’t strive at it, if you don’t fill it full of stars and falseness.
I can almost understand why people leap from bridges.
what you were will not happen again. the tigers have found me and I do not care.
I dislike interaction. The less I say the better I feel. I was naturally a loner. I didn’t want conversation, or to goanywhere. I didn’t understand other people who wanted to share their emotions. Parties sickened me. I was drawn to all the wrong...
I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn’t have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. I didn’t make for an interesting person. I didn’t want to b...
The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts while the stupid one are full of confidence".
There's too much coldness in the world," I told her. "If people would only talk things out together it would help.
I felt I had to win. It seemed very important. I didn't know why it was important and I kept thinking, why do I think this is so important? And another part of me answered, just because it is.
unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't do it
nothing can save you except writing. it keeps the walls from failing.
He asked, "What makes a man a writer?" "Well," I said, "it's simple. You either get it down on paper, or jump off a bridge.
The writer has no responsibility other than to jack off in bed alone and write a good page.
