About Charles Bukowski: Henry Charles Bukowski was a German-born American poet, novelist, and short story writer.
I don't know. It's been terribly hard for me. How do I know you won't do it again?' 'Nobody is ever quite sure of what they will do. You aren't sure what you might do.
My cock was hard, but my spirit wasn't in it.
I like to change liquor stores frequently because the clerks got to know your habits if you went in night and day and bought huge quantities. I could feel them wondering why I wasn't dead yet and it made me feel uncomfortable. They probably weren't t...
Are you anti-black? I'm anti-everything.
You're the most unknown famous man I ever met
They took all the joy out of fucking by talking about it all the time. I liked to fuck too, but it wasn't my religion.
That way I wouldn't have to see the guys in their walking shorts. They looked as if nothing had ever touched them- all well-mothered, protected, with a soft sheet of contentment. None of them had ever been in jail, or worked hard with their hands, or...
Hicimos una parada para comprar licor, hielo y cigarrillos, luego regresamos al apartamento. Su única copa había puesto a Cecilia soltando risas y hablando sin parar. Ahora estaba explicándonos que los animales también tenían alma. Nadie se lo d...
There is a problem with writers. If what a writer wrote was published and sold many, many copies, the writer thought he was great. If what a writer wrote was published and sold a medium number of copies, the writer thought he was great. If what a wri...
There's no way I can stop writing, it's a form of insanity.
A good writer knew when not to write. Anybody could type. Not that I was a good typist; also I couldn't spell and I didn't know grammar. But I knew when not to write. It was like fucking. You had to rest the godhead now and then.
some moments are nice, some are nicer, some are even worth writing about.
I didn't know who to believe but one thing I do know: when a man is living many claim relationships that are hardly so and after he dies, well, then it's everybody's party.
when you're young a pair of female high-heeled shoes just sitting alone in the closet can fire your bones; when you're old it's just a pair of shoes without anybody in them and just as well.
it does seem the more we drink the better the words go.
one doesn't even think of the liver and if the liver doesn't think of us, that's fine.
there's no clarity. there was never meant to be clarity.
darkness falls upon Humanity and faces become terrible things that wanted more than there was. all our days are marked with unexpected affronts - some disastrous, others less so but the process is wearing and continuous. attrition rules. most give wa...
as long as there are human beings about there is never going to be any peace for any individual upon this earth (or anywhere else they might escape to). all you can do is maybe grab ten lucky minutes here or maybe an hour there. something is working ...
sometimes all we need to be able to continue alone are the dead rattling the walls that close us in.
she slammed the door and was gone. I looked at the closed door and at the doorknob and strangely I didn't feel alone.
